


Give Us This Day

by thewalkingdead69



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-05-02 05:28:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 27,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5235986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewalkingdead69/pseuds/thewalkingdead69
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Continuum. Contains smut, fluff and plot. You know how it goes :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Saving Grace

"There's someone at the door."

  
There was a moment of silence as both Beth and Daryl contemplated the current conundrum. Surely in a world before the dead walked, this would not be a reason for fear or trepidation. Somebody at the door would have been expected, perhaps even welcomed.

  
But this wasn't the old life. People had no business knocking on doors. Beth hadn't met anyone new since the prison, and she had never expected to do so. People only came knocking at doors when they were in need: of food, water, shelter, supplies. Beth could feel her pulse hammering in her throat. Their group had each of those things in abundance, because they so desperately needed them to raise a baby. That made them a target for pilferers, thieves, savages.

  
Daryl suddenly appeared five inches taller as he straightened into a defensive stance. He walked silently onto the landing, picking up his crossbow and slinging it over his shoulder in the most threatening way possible before he started to take the stairs. One step at a time. Stealthy. He was a hunter, and he wasn't averse to hunting humans if they posed a threat to his group.

  
Beth followed him loyally towards the staircase, because part of her was praying for more reunions with Carol, Rick, Sasha, baby Judith. After all, the last time they had been disturbed by a knock, it had been her own sister and brother-in-law. Why couldn't the odds be in their favor once more?

  
"Beth, get back into the bedroom and lock the door, right?" Daryl didn't need to turn to know she'd followed him out of their room.

  
"But-" she tried to argue, already knowing it was a pointless attempt.

  
"Ain't fuckin' around here, Beth. Get in the bedroom now," the look he flashed her was just serious enough to convince her. She swallowed hard before retreating into their room and locking the door behind her.

  
She wasted no time in gathering anything of value in their room: the water bottles on the desk, the almost full tin of baby formula, the first aid kid, Daryl's bolts, clothes, shoes, painkillers. All of this was tipped into a backpack and stashed beneath a loose floorboard by the bed. They had to be able to run if they needed to, and they wouldn't get far without these necessities.

  
Daryl began the rigorous routine of unlocking the multiple chain latches and locks on the front door of the funeral home, pulling the door open just enough for him to cautiously peer onto the front stoop to evaluate the intruder.

  
He immediately realized that "intruder" was too severe of a word for the person who stood hunched in the front yard.

  
It was a woman. A small woman. The steady rise and fall of her shoulders to indicate breathing was the only factor that set her apart from the undead. Her hair was matted with soil and blood, her face ghostly pale against the harsh streaks of mud and blood that stained her skin. She stood there on the porch, eyes glazed as if she were under the influence of hooch or mind-altering drugs.

  
The creak of the front door opening seemed to awaken her from the trance she was in. Her eyes lifted from their comfortable resting place in front of her feet, rising slowly until she was able to take in Daryl's figure standing in the doorway.

  
"Hey, I need to see your hands," Daryl ordered, his tone softer than anticipated at the poor, hopeless look in her eyes. Her hands were clasped together behind her back, her fingers twisting together with uncertainty or nervousness, Daryl didn't know. All he knew was that he wasn't letting anyone into their house with a concealed weapon.

  
She took a small and shaky step forward, her hands dropping to her sides with her hands splayed open to reveal her complete lack of weapons.

  
"P-please. P-p-please. You have to help me," Daryl almost didn't recognize the words escaping her mouth, her voice was so strained he knew she hadn't spoken for weeks.

  
"Oh my God," Daryl heard a familiar voice gasp, and let out a growl of frustration as a blonde head poked out to his left.

  
"Beth, I told you to stay back!" he muttered between gritted teeth, eyes firmly planted on their new arrival.

  
"Look at her!" she whispered, obviously distraught by the condition of this stranger. But that was just Beth. Selfless. Loving.

  
"I need help. Please," the woman continued, her eyes pleading as they stared into Daryl's.

  
"She's bleeding!" Beth murmured, noting the blood that stained the front of her jeans.

  
"I need to check you for weapons. You been bitten by anything?" Daryl shoved Beth behind his body as he stepped out of the house and towards the woman.

  
"No. Nothing. This blood is old. I've not eaten in weeks. Please," she raised both arms in the air as Daryl advanced upon her, hands roughly patting at her waistband and down each leg, hunting for weapons and finding nothing.

  
"You ain't got nothing on you. How've you made it this far without a weapon?" he pulled away from her, doubt clouding his features.

  
She shrugged, wincing in pain as she did so.

  
"Luck, I suppose," she raised one hand to wipe a strand of hair from her face, revealing a stark white scar that ran horizontally across her wrist. Daryl knew those scars, had seen them up close on someone else. There was no doubt that Beth had seen them, too, as she was suddenly at Daryl's side despite his attempts to block her with his body.

  
"Daryl, please. We can't leave her here. She'll be dead in a day," Beth was glaring up at him, using her most convincing puppy dog eyes.

  
"I'm Beth," she continued, peering around Daryl's torso to take in the woman. She was older than Beth and Maggie, but not by much. Beth desperately wanted to reach out to her, to take her wrists between her hands and touch those scars tenderly.

  
"Grace," the woman nodded, the beginnings of a small smile gracing her otherwise expressionless face.

  
Daryl could feel Beth's insistent tugging at his shirt, almost like a child demanding candy from her parent.

  
"Fine. Come in and get cleaned up. We got some food and water we can spare," Daryl extended an arm to the woman as he noticed how weak she was. She accepted it gratefully, leaning her weight against his side as she shuffled towards the front door.

  
"Glenn! Maggie!" Daryl bellowed as he hauled her across the threshold and kicked the door shut behind them. Glenn appeared immediately. It was blindingly obvious that he had been hiding in the hallway, ready to jump out if the intruder was in fact a danger.

  
"Oh, shit. Here, I'll get water." Glenn ducked into the kitchen as Beth pulled up a kitchen chair and found a blanket to throw around the woman's shoulders.

  
Grace was shaking as she lowered herself into the seat, teeth chattering loudly despite the humid air that filled the kitchen.

  
"You hurt anywhere, Grace?" Beth was kneeling in front of her, her eyes quickly and efficiently running over every piece of exposed flesh, attempting to locate any scrapes or bruises that she could fix.

  
"No. No. I'm exhausted, I'm hungry, that's all," she stammered.

  
"You're safe now, Grace," Beth soothed, pushing a strand of matted hair out of Grace's face.

  
"Oh God. Oh God, I didn't think I'd find people again. I thought I was dead!" she continued, her voice catching in her throat as a sob threatened to escape.

  
"I'm going to fix you up something to eat, alright? Here, drink up," Beth took the glass of water that Glenn was offering, pushing the cup into her shaking hands and helping her to guide it to her mouth where she drank from it greedily.

  
Daryl pulled up a chair alongside Grace, his crossbow laying across the kitchen table.

  
"Daryl. I'm going to get some of the deer from last week, alright? Can you watch her?" Beth called over her shoulder as she disappeared into the cellar to find some deer jerky.

  
Grace remained silent, her glass of water shaking in her hands so violently that Daryl was compelled to pry the cup from her fingers and return it to the table.

  
"Sorry. I'm trying not to shake, but I can't help it." She met his eyes for a second, her expression full of apologies and awkwardness.

  
"You're full of adrenaline. It's normal to be afraid," he grunted, not familiar with comforting anyone other than Beth.

  
He watched Beth return with the jerky, and the grateful way that Grace accepted the food with delight, jamming so much of it into her mouth that she almost choked. Daryl could see that Beth was just about bursting at the seams with questions and concern and conversations that were still unspoken, and he admired her patience when she perched herself on his knee and waited for Grace to finish eating her fill of deer.

  
"Thank you. God, you're so kind," Grace drained her cup of water, prompting Beth to hop up and refill her glass without a second thought.

  
"How long has it been since you ate something?" Beth asked as she returned.

  
"Something other than worms, you mean? A fortnight, at least. I'm lucky I found a creek to drink out of, or I'd be dead," Grace replied, shuddering at the memory of that murky creek water she had been forced to slurp down. She was thanking her lucky stars that she wasn't dead from dysentery or a multitude of other possible poisons and toxins.

  
"I just realized that I'm the only one who introduced myself. This is Daryl, he's my b- fiancé, and my sister Maggie is upstairs with our daughter, Sophia. That’s Glenn, Maggie’s husband," Beth gestured as Glenn returned to the kitchen, obviously having just ran down the stairs after delivering the news of the arrival to Maggie.

  
"Thank you, guys. For everything. I must have looked a sight standing out there in your yard. I didn't even know whether this place was occupied. It looked deserted," she glanced around the kitchen.

  
"That's the plan. The less occupied it looks, the less chance of Walkers," Beth shrugged as she swept jerky crumbs from the table.

  
"Walkers? That's a good one. We just called 'em zombies," Grace let out a short laugh as Beth wrinkled her nose at the term.

  
Glenn watched Beth and Grace talking like old friends, watching the look of excitement on Beth's face at the prospect of having a new friend, somebody to gossip with and trade life stories and experiences with.

  
"We gonna do this properly? The way Rick would?" he murmured under his breath so that only Daryl could hear him.

  
"What? The three questions?" Daryl grunted in reply, pretending to be fascinated with a loose splinter of wood in the kitchen table. Glenn shrugged noncommittally next to him, prompting him to interrupt the gossip session.

  
"Grace, listen. We got enough stuff to share with you, if you're willing to chip in and work with us to hunt and stockpile necessities," Daryl started, already noting Grace's confident and eager head-nodding in response to his proposition.

  
"As long as Beth or Maggie don't have any complaints, I can't see a problem with letting you stay here with us. All I ask is that you answer three questions," Daryl paused for dramatic effect, not entirely confident of how to phrase these in the most Rick-esque manner.

  
"Sure. I'm ready," Grace smiled benignly up at him, awaiting the interrogation.

  
"How many walkers have you killed?"

  
"I lost count after fifteen," she answered coolly.

  
"How many people have you killed?"

  
This question seemed to catch her off-guard just for a moment.

  
"Three."

  
"Why?"

  
This was it. The question that decided her fate. Whether she would stay in their safe haven, or be thrown back out into the wilderness.

  
"To protect my family." She did not hesitate, her eyes the clearest Daryl had even seen them as she stared adamantly up at him, demanding him to accept her. He pretended to consider her answers carefully, despite spying Beth jumping up and down with excitement in his peripheral vision.

  
"Welcome to our group, Grace." Daryl's introduction was cut off by an excitable squeal from Beth.

  
"We've got hot running water. Did you want to take a shower? You can have some of my or Maggie's clothes when you're done. I can wash those," Beth glanced down at the dried blood on the woman's jeans.

  
"I'd really appreciate it. Thank you, guys." She stood, shakily, latching onto Beth's arm as she led the way to the staircase. Glenn let out a sigh of content from his seat at the table, turning to Daryl as if awaiting him to comment on the newcomer.

  
"What's that look for?" Daryl allowed a short smile to grace his features as he set about clearing up Grace's plate and cup.

  
"Nothing. I just haven't seen Beth this excited since - well, I don't think I've ever seen Beth this excited!" he finished. Daryl couldn't contain the chuckle that escaped him.

  
"Me neither. This is a big deal for her. She hasn't made a new friend in a long time."

  
"I hope this works out for her sake," the humor disappeared momentarily from Glenn's voice as he stared wistfully towards the staircase. Daryl swallowed the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat. Because there were no guarantees any longer. Grace could die. Grace could lead them into trouble. Grace could do any large number of things that would disadvantage their group and leave Beth feeling heartbroken and betrayed.

  
"She seems okay. I hope she's a good person. I want to like her, I really do. If she makes Beth happy, I'm all for it," Daryl concluded as he picked up his crossbow and slung it over his shoulder.

  
"I guess I'm going on a hunt. Wasn't really planning on it, but I suppose we've got an extra mouth to feed now. Want to come with?" Daryl offered hesitantly. He preferred to hunt alone, especially after enduring Glenn on his last hunt with his endless personal questions and lack of social boundaries.

  
"Nah, I'll leave you to it. I was going to gather some more firewood. We're running a little low," there was a twinkle in Glenn's eye that communicated he had understood Daryl's distaste for company, and did not take it personally.


	2. Childless Mother

**Hi guys, thanks for the continued support! Please enjoy chapter 2. I really appreciate reading your reviews, if you have time! Cheers, Lara xoxo  
**

* * *

 

"Keep an eye on the girls. I'll try to be quick," Daryl nodded goodbye to Glenn before heading upstairs to tell Beth he was leaving. He knew that she hated him going without saying goodbye. The thought of him leaving without a good luck kiss was damn close to a sin in the eyes of that woman, and he'd be a fool to enrage his angel.

He found her perched on the edge of their bed with Maggie and Sophia. He could hear the shower running, and assumed that Grace was currently attempting to detangle the mud and dirt from her hair.

"Daryl! Come in. I've just been filling Maggie in. Isn't she great?" Beth's tone was hushed to prevent Grace from overhearing their gossiping, and her cheeks were flushed bright pink with excitement.

"She's alright, Beth. Can we have a moment, please?" He looked pointedly at Maggie, breathing a sigh of relief when she read his expression effortlessly and glided to the door muttering something about taking inventory of their tinned goods.

"What's wrong?" Beth's brow was furrowed adorably, and Daryl was having trouble resisting the urge to kiss it.

"Nothing's wrong. I just- I don't want you to get your hopes up with Grace, that's all. We still don't know her. We should give it some time before we make any decisions about letting her stay here permanently," he wrapped his arms around her as she stood, Sophia pressed between them warm and soft.

"I know. I'm sorry. I just- I can't help feeling excited. I shouldn't get carried away, but I really want this to work out with us," she apologized unnecessarily. Daryl shook his head as he placed alternate soft kisses between Sophia's forehead and Beth's lips.

"S' alright, baby. I just wanted to tell you that I'm going for a hunt. Won't be back for a good few hours."

"Oh, okay. I thought you didn't have plans for today?" she reached up her small hand to tangle itself around the hemline of his shirt as she blinked up at him.

"Wasn't gonna', but we need more food now. I'll be back before dark, I promise," he let his fingers run through her golden hair, marveling at its soft and silken texture coursing between his fingers.

"That's too bad. I was hoping we could just crawl back into bed and f-"

"Jesus Christ, woman. Watch your mouth, there's a baby present," he snarled at her very tempting suggestion. What he wouldn't give to spend an entire day in bed with this girl.

"So what? Sophia is too young to understand all of the things that Mommy wants to do to Daddy when he gets home tonight. It's too bad you've got to hunt. You'll probably be so exhausted," she was trying to mask the giggles that were bubbling in her throat.

"I'll always find energy for you, Greene," he smirked as he bent down to plant a final kiss against her mouth.

"Love you both," he finished as he heard the shower turn off. Somehow he managed to tear himself away from the beautiful girl holding their daughter in her arms.

Beth remained in the doorway to their room, bouncing Sophia who was in a decidedly giggly mood. Beth winced as her tiny fingers twisted insistently through her hair, knotting the strands and tugging painfully.

"Ouch, Sophia! Damn!" she breathed, trying desperately to free her hair and making a mental note to tie her hair up whenever she spend quality time with her handsy daughter.

She looked up just in time to see Grace emerging from the bathroom. She was carrying her dirty clothes in one hand and clasping a towel around her body with the other.

"Oh, Grace! How do you feel?" Beth called out, motioning for the woman to follow her into the bedroom to grab some clothes.

"Much better. God, haven't had a proper shower in longer than I care to think about. I forgot what my natural hair color was," she grinned, shaking out her damp vanilla-scented hair which was significantly lighter and fluffier now that it had been shampooed.

"I know the feeling. Here, there were some clothes left over in the wardrobe. Take your pick,” she smiled apologetically as she rifled through the nightstand and found a pair of leggings and a t-shirt.

"Try these, they'll fit," she passed them to Grace who accepted them with a smile and turned her back towards Beth to change. As she lowered her towel, Beth couldn't prevent the gasp that escaped her as she noticed the small expanse of stretch marks that stood out against her pale skin.

If Grace noticed Beth's intake of air, she chose to ignore it.

"You're a mother, too?" Beth's voice cracked as she spoke before she had considered her words. Because Grace may be a mother, but there was no baby with her now. Surely that could only mean one thing.

"I used to be." Her reply was forced, and she kept her eyes focused intently on the floor. Beth could see the tears that threatened to spill, and was overcome with guilt at her inability to think before speaking.

"I'm sorry." Beth's voice trembled as she squeezed Sophia tightly to her side. The prospect of losing a child was too painful to even consider, and she felt a sharp stab of empathy straight through her heart.

"You must be exhausted. I'll make up the couch downstairs for you," Beth turned to ease Sophia down into her crib, tucking her in securely and cranking the mobile to entertain her while she drifted off to sleep.

"Thanks again, Beth. I can't begin to tell you how much I appreciate everything you guys have done for me," Grace whispered, a tear escaping her left eye and streaking down her cheek.

"Don't thank us. We're the only people left. We have to stick together." Beth ushered her down the hallway, giving her a quick tour of the funeral home as they went. Beth chattered nervously as she lay clean sheets down over the couch and plumped up the cushions. Grace wasted no time in sliding between the blanket and cushions, settling herself in for a long overdue nap.

"I'll turn out the lights. Help yourself to water if you get thirsty," Beth instinctively moved to tuck the blankets around Grace's body, as she would for Sophia.

"You're an angel, Beth." Grace smiled gratefully up at her.

"I'll come check on you in a few hours. Daryl should be back with more food by the time you wake up," Beth kicked out the doorstop that held the partition between the lounge and entry hallway open, the door sliding shut with a satisfying click.


	3. Lullaby

**The song is called Yours, by Ella Henderson. It's beautiful, and has amazing Bethyl vibes!**

* * *

 

A long exhale of air escaped her lungs as she stood with her back to the partition door, her mind running at a million miles a minute. She couldn’t help but feel empathy for this poor woman, who had survived the inevitable and had stumbled across their home by chance. In the entryway, the clock chimed noisily to signal midday. The noise shook Beth from her thoughts, and she glanced down to notice that Grace’s soiled clothes were grasped in her fists.

She sighed, making her way towards the kitchen the filling the sink with soap and water. The least she could do was try to rinse out the filth and blood that had accumulated from her travels through the woods. Beth’s mind wandered as she scrubbed absentmindedly at the stained garments, vaguely curious as to who the blood stains belonged to.

Her heart ached at the thought of Grace’s baby. She did not want to know what had happened to that innocent life, was not prepared to imagine the atrocities of this world. Did the blood belong to her child? Did it die in her arms? Beth hoped – for the baby’s sake – that it did. If they now lived in a world where infants were to be taken, at least God should have the good grace to let it be in their mothers embrace.

She could hear Sophia’s soft gurgles over the musical chimes of the mobile, and the clattering of Maggie in the shed out back as she reorganized their rations and re-calculated the duration of their supplies now that there was a new group member. Maggie was fair like that. She shared the same level headedness that Beth had inherited from their father.

The sink gurgled as it swallowed the remainder of the dirty brown water. Beth grimaced at the discolored material, the blood stains faded but still very visible. Oh well. Maybe Grace wouldn’t mind having these thrown out now that there were new clothes to share. Beth wrung out the clothes as best she could and hung them over the kitchen chair for Grace to decide their fate.

Beth was itching to check on the woman. She was still a complete mystery, and although Beth was respectful of how completely exhausted and weak Grace must be, she still fidgeted while waiting for an opportunity to bombard her with questions about her life. Her age. Her hometown. Her family. Her friends. Her story.

She tiptoed cautiously past the partition door, unable to resist the urge to peek through the small crack in the door to check that Grace was alright. The woman was sighing in her sleep, twitching ever so slightly with a pinched expression on her face.

“No, no. No, please. No, please don’t. No!” She bolted upright, lungs fighting for air and eyes blown wide in fear as Beth flung open the partition door and ran to her side.

“Grace, you’re safe. You were having a nightmare. You’re fine,” she rushed to soothe the woman, because she felt it was the least she could do after everything that Grace had lost.

“But- Isabella! I tried! I couldn’t- I couldn’t save her,” she was mumbling somewhat incoherently, eyes suddenly glazed and her hand wrapped painfully tight around Beth’s wrist. Beth didn’t have to ask who Isabella was. She could only suspect that her own Isabella lay sleeping, safe and peaceful, in her cot upstairs.

“I know you tried, Grace. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Take some deep breaths,” Beth perched on the piano bench adjacent to the couch, leaning over to pat the back of her hand in comfort.

“I’m- sorry, Beth. I can’t- I have dreams sometimes. They’re so vivid-“ her voice cracked on the verge of tears, and Beth hushed her immediately.

“No apologies, Grace. Can I do anything for you?” Beth’s eyes flashed around the room, looking for any activity of past time that could take the woman’s mind off of her dead child and allow her frazzled brain to rest.

“Not unless you know any lullabies,” she stammered, Beth’s spirits lifting at Grace’s attempt at humor to lighten the mood.

Beth turned to the piano that she hadn’t played with since before Sophia was born. She wasn’t a composer, or a musician. She was a young girl who had taught herself a few notes many years ago. But perhaps she knew enough to wing it for Grace, because she needed something to take her mind off of the inner turmoil that twisted her dreams.

“I could sing for you. I’m not really any good, but sometimes it’s the only thing that will get Sophia to sleep,” she offered halfheartedly.

“I’d like that,” Grace’s reply was fast and sure, as though she were waiting for Beth to offer her musical skills.

“Any requests?” Beth flexed her fingers uncertainly over the keys, her mind currently raking through the files and folders of internal storage searching for information on playing the piano.

“Whatever works for Sophia, perhaps?” Grace suggested kindly, a faint smile on her face as she watched Beth from the couch.

“Alright, here goes nothing,” Beth returned her smile as her fingers idly plunked a few keys, testing the waters and being quite impressed with the speed at which her fingers remembered the notes to the song she often whispered to Sophia in the early hours of the morning when she was fussing and colicky.

_I’ll wear your winter coat, the one you love to wear_

_So I keep feeling close to what’s beyond compare_

_The moments waking up, you catch me in your eyes_

_That beauty on my pillow that holds me in the night_

Beth heard the soft click of the front door signaling Daryl’s return, but she did not stop singing. Her fingers danced across the keys, now familiar with the notes and tempo of the music. Her voice, although initially a little dusty from lack of practice, was now pouring like honey from her lips as she sang the words.

_And I would find my strength to untape my mouth when I used to be afraid of the words_

_But with you I’ve learnt just to let it out, now my heart is ready to burst_

It was a love song, and perhaps not entirely relevant to whatever Grace was battling against in her mind, but as she chanced a quick glance at the woman on the couch, she found that her eyelids had drooped shut and her breathing had deepened.

Heavy footsteps fell in the hallway outside the small living room, and Beth did not have to turn to know that Daryl was standing in the doorway and listening to her voice. She could always sense his presence moments before he physically arrived in any room.

_Cause I feel like I’m ready for love_

_And I wanna be your everything and more_

_And I know every day I say it, but I just want you to be sure_

_That I am yours_

Daryl sighed quietly as he watched her play and listened to that sweet voice he’d been denied for so long. He loved it when she sang. Quite frankly, he loved it when she did anything. He was fairly confident that she could sit and watch paint dry and he’d still find her beyond fascinating. She looked dwarfed in comparison to the piano, and he wondered idly how her tiny hands managed to travel across the expanse of keys without error.

_And if I’ve been feeling heavy, you take me from the dark_

_Your arms they keep me steady so nothing could fall apart_

_And I would find my strength to untape my mouth when I used to be afraid of the words_

_But with you I’ve learnt just to let it out, now my heart is ready to burst_

Fuck, he loved her. It didn’t matter that he reminded himself of this on a daily basis. He loved her so intensely that it terrified him, because he had never known he was even capable of that level of emotion. He realized with a stab of guilt that Beth was his fiancé. He had proposed to her – it felt like years ago – and she had said yes. She wanted to spend her life with him, to share herself with him. Him. Daryl fucking Dixon. Against all odds.

He made a mental note to talk to Maggie about planning something. Calling it a wedding seemed a bit of an overstatement, after all there was nobody around who was capable of officiating it. It wouldn’t be a legal binding, but the law was pretty much nonexistent now anyways, and it would be the thought that counts. Daryl’s stomach dropped in anticipation of marrying her. He let his head rest against the door frame as she continued her song, focused only on singing Grace to sleep.

_‘Cause I feel like I’m ready for love_

_And I wanna be your everything and more_

_And I know every day I say it, but I just want you to be sure_

_That I am yours_

The song ended as her finger struck the final note, the hum echoed in the small room before fading into silence. Grace’s deep breathing filled the air as Beth watched over her. Daryl was unsure of whether she was aware of his presence until she spoke, addressing him.

“Did you like it?” she whispered, her head tilting just enough for Daryl to know that she was talking to him.

“Loved it. I’ve missed you singin’” he murmured in response, his eyes raking over her as she climbed out from the piano and gave Grace’s blankets another quick tuck before turning to face him, slipping out of the room and sliding the partition closed behind herself.

“I missed it, too. Thought I’d forgotten how to play the piano,” she smiled shyly up at him from under her lashes and he bent his head down to kiss her gently, her lips soft and sweet against his.

“It was beautiful. You’re beautiful,” he mumbled almost incoherently, pulling her body into the warm embrace of his arms. She stifled her giggle against the material of his vest.

“How was the hunt? You were quicker than I expected,” she was talking about stupid things that he didn’t want to discuss, because all he really wanted to do right now was to kiss her so hard and for so long that she forgot every last word of English.

“Fine. Nothing big. Squirrels. 3 of them.” He punctuated each sentence with another kiss against those willing lips of hers, his hands firm on her shoulders to stop her from pulling away.

“D-Daryl, I need to talk to you about Grace,” Beth was murmuring between kisses, her breath catching in her throat each time he claimed her mouth with his own. He pulled back, knowing that Beth didn’t do things half-arsed, and that she most likely had something relevant and important to say about Grace if she was determined enough to interrupt his affections.

“What’s that?” he pressed a comforting kiss to her forehead.

“I really want her to stay. A-and before you say anything, I know you expect me to say this, but-“ Beth’s voice broke and her eyes darted back towards the living room to confirm that Grace was still unconscious on the couch.

“She was a mother,” Beth whispered, her eyes burning into Daryl’s as though begging him to read the undertone in her voice.

“What?”

“When she was getting changed, I saw her stretch marks. I commented before I even realized what it meant. I think her name was Isabella, because she was dreaming earlier and screaming her name,” Beth blinked, and Daryl could see the tears threatening to spill down her face.

“I know you’re cautious of newcomers, and I know why. You have family to protect here. I love you for protecting us. But when I saw those marks on her stomach I just- I couldn’t help-“ a tiny sob escaped her and she let Daryl pull her close, his hands rubbing at her back soothingly until she regained her voice.

“It could have been me.” She finished, eyes wide in fright.

“Beth, you know I’m never gonna leave you,” he began, but she cut him off with a frantic shake of her head.

“I know that. But what if I lost you? What if I lost all of you? And Sophia? Oh God, Sophia. All it takes is one stroke of bad luck, one stray walker. Grace had a family, and now she’s alone. She was a mother who has lost her child and her partner and God knows what else. We can’t turn her back out into the woods. I couldn’t forgive myself,” she wiped at her wet eyes frantically.

“Beth, nobody’s throwing Grace out, alright? She can stay with us, that’s not a problem. The only reason I’d ever threaten something like that is if she tried to hurt one of us. But she hasn’t. She seems like a good person. You don’t need to worry about that,” Daryl murmured soothingly, carding his fingers through her golden curls and inhaling her sweet scent that he had come to know and love.

“Promise?” Her eyes were shining as they gazed up at him.

“I promise. Besides, it’d be a shame for her to miss the wedding,” he continued, attempting to lighten the mood. She look of intense confusion that crossed Beth’s face only served to entertain Daryl.

“What wedding? Who’s getting married?” Beth looked around the expanse of the empty funeral home as if expecting to find a bride and groom sitting at the kitchen table playing poker.

“This is awkward. I was under the impression that we were,” he paused as he watched it dawn upon her face.

“Granted, it’s been a while since I asked you, but-“ Daryl was cut off when Beth shrieked in excitement, leaping into his arms to press kisses to every square inch of his face that she could reach.

“Jesus girl. Calm down, you’ll wake up Grace,” he murmured into her hair, thoroughly enjoying the reaction that the topic evoked from his girl.

“I know, I’m sorry. I hadn’t forgotten, I swear. There’s just been so much happening, and Sophia was born and-“

“I ain’t mad. Maybe only at myself for not organizing this sooner. Should have made an honest woman outta’ yer a long time ago,” he grinned.

“I love you, Daryl,” she breathed into his ear.

“Love you too, Mrs. Dixon,” he replied, his voice rough and causing an involuntary shiver to run down Beth’s spine.

“Say that again,” she gasped, pupils blown wide.


	4. Same Old Love

“Mrs. Dixon,” he tested, enjoying the little moan that escaped her and the way her breath caught in her throat.

“I like how that sounds,” she murmured, her fingers twisting in his hair and pulling his mouth down to meet hers hungrily. She squealed when she felt his hands run down to her backside before lifting her easily, her legs wrapping automatically around his hips.

“Mrs. Elizabeth Anne Dixon,” he continued, his mind suddenly elsewhere. Because it didn’t matter that he’d already made love to her that morning. He was filled with the burning flames that far surpassed desire. He needed her. Needed to be inside her. They had spent too much time apart, and he couldn’t breathe until they were one again.

He was suddenly thankful that Grace was passed out on the couch, Maggie was counting tinned goods and Glenn was gathering firewood because he was about to fuck the future Mrs. Dixon against the closest surface he could find – be it horizontal or vertical.

“I need you, Daryl. Please,” she fucking whimpered in his ear, like she was begging for it, her hands already busy with the hem of her shirt and it was a goddamn miracle that Daryl found the bottom of the narrow staircase. Her shirt was off by the time they reached the upstairs landing, and he was having a hard time recalling which door led to a bedroom, because all he could focus on was Beth’s bare torso directly in front of his face and her soft warm breasts scorching through the material of his flannel.

He needed to free his hands so he could squeeze those two perfectly rounded mounds, but to do so meant he would need to set her down. He let out a grunt of relief as he barged through their bedroom door, heading for the writing desk by the bed that he had sat on whilst she cried on their first night in this house. That was a shitty memory, and it was about time to re-christen that desk in celebration of their upcoming nuptials.

The spare bolts and a few empty water bottles crashed to the floor as Daryl cleared the desk with a single swipe so he could deposit Beth upon it. If she was confused about the chosen location, she hid it well, and her fingers immediately went to work on his belt buckle, yanking his jeans down just enough for her hot little fingers to wrap around his rapidly stiffening erection.

Sweet mother of God. He looked down at her, his mind fumbling for something romantic or loving to whisper to her, but his jaw snapped shut when she pulled him in, that tiny perfect tongue licking from base to tip, flicking and fluttering along his length until he wanted to just melt into a puddle of satisfaction on their bedroom floor. Those lips that he loved, that whispered sweet nothings to Sophia, and sang beautiful melodious lullabies were now wrapped firmly around his cock whilst her blue eyes seared into his.

She liked to watch him. She liked watching the expression on his face that occurred when parts of him were inside parts of her. For all of his toughened exterior, he looked nothing short of a man hopelessly in love as he fought a waging battle to thrust into the wet heat of her mouth.

Something must have shaken Daryl from his stupor when his hand gripped her shoulder, pushing her back just enough for his cock to pop free from her mouth. She never ceased her strokes, her small hand sliding easily against his skin with the slick from her own saliva. She stared silently yet sweetly up at him, awaiting instruction.

“Condom,” he managed to choke out, amazed by the speed at which she retrieved the foil package from the drawer that was situated appropriately between her legs. She rolled it over his length so painfully slow that his teeth gritted in displeasure. He busied his mind by unbuttoning her jeans and pulling them down her hips violently, hearing her gasp of annoyance as the button was ripped off and flew into a shadowed corner of the room.

He silenced her irritation with a bruising kiss, making her feel the passion and brutality with which he wanted her. His forearms wrapped under her thighs, lifting them high enough to wrap around his waist. Her torso slumped backwards against the top of the desk, lips pouting and bright red from their kisses.

He paused for a moment before sliding into her body, because he truly lived for the moments like these. When Beth was breathless, and speechless (which was an incredibly rare occurrence). When she was gasping for air, her teeth gnawing at her bottom lip as she gazed up at him. She was waiting for him to make the next move, because his firm grasp on her legs made her own maneuvering next to impossible. She was spread open, willing, wanting, waiting for him.

“Love you,” he grumbled, watching the flicker of light dash across her eyes at his declaration. Of course, she already knew this. But that didn’t make the phrase any less true, or any less sweet.

“Show me,” she breathed, so quietly he sensed rather than heard her response. Her sigh turned quickly into a muffled groan as he thrust home into the warm cocoon of her body. Nothing could ever be as perfect as this. That initial sensation that wormed up his spine as he sank into her body, the second of surprise he glimpsed in her eyes. Her body was perfectly accustomed to his, and yet with every inch he drove into her, he elicited a cry of pleasure.

He could feel the tips of her fingernails digging precariously into his biceps as he rocked against her, into her. His mouth dropped to cover hers at each moan and each cry. His beautiful angel. The woman he was going to marry.

His arms pulled her bottom closer to the edge of the desk so that he could fuck her deeper, like she wanted him to. Her back was arching, and her mouth open, unable to contain the sounds. He wished his hands were free so he could just fucking hold her against him, to feel her softness and her warmth against the hard planes of his own body. To keep her together as she figuratively fell apart beneath him.

Her voice was hot and heavy in his ear, pleading with him for more. More speed. More friction. Whatever she wanted, he was bound to give to her. He could feel her hands slipping down his arms to intertwine their fingers momentarily, her own hands dwarfed in comparison to his. He loved her like this. He loved it when she rolled her hips against his, meeting each trust with perfect rhythm. He loved the flush that spread from her cheeks down her neck to color her breasts. He loved watching the muscles of her taught abdomen pulsing with each pleasurable contraction of her body around his.

He loved her, and everything she did reminded him why. From her smiles to the tinkling bells of her laughter, to the high-pitched keening yelp that escaped her when she came, the flickering of her eyelids and the teeth that gnawed so tightly upon her bottom lip he was afraid she would break the skin. Everything she did was a welcomed reminder of how they had gotten to this point.

Daryl’s jaw clenched as he buried himself balls deep into her warmth and let his own orgasm wash over him. The hard wired muscles in her legs twitched under his palms in satiation and fatigue as she waited for her lover to come down from his high.

“I love you, too,” she whispered gently as he pitched forward to cover her body with his. His face was buried in the warm, salty crook of her neck. He was close enough to hear her grumble of disproval when he withdrew from her body, her legs tightening around his hips in an effort to keep him there. He was safe – like always – in the warmth and certainty of her embrace.


	5. Things We Lost In The Fire

 

_Two weeks later_

“Okay, so I can’t say that I’ve been to many weddings before, but I’m fairly certain you ain’t supposed to serve deer jerky to the guests,” Maggie giggled into her coffee at the kitchen table.

Beth glanced up from the pile of old bridal magazines she had taken from a department store on their latest run. They had been heavy to carry all the way back, but Daryl had agreed on the condition that they would be used as kindling once the wedding was over. She agreed wholeheartedly. She was a practical woman, after all. Her slim hand was poised with a highlighter over a page displaying a variety of bridal bouquets, from delicate while lilies to garish multicolored collections of hibiscus flowers bundled together with twine.

“Deer jerky is all we have, Maggie. And I believe the term “guests” is a small overstatement,” Grace replied, rubbing at her eyes before resuming her job of assisting Beth with the scouring of bridal magazine for inspiration.

“Of course, let me re-check our guest list. Hmm, Maggie, Glenn, Grace, Sophia. Let’s not forget that lonely Walker that keeps dragging himself around the front yard. Although he hasn’t RSVP’d yet, so I’d put him on the ‘maybe’ list,” Maggie pretended to appraise the list with disapproval.

“Very funny, Mags. You are the most entertaining maid of honor I’ve ever known,” Beth laughed at her sisters shocked expression at the title.

“I’m your maid of honor? Wow. I wasn’t expecting this. It’s all so sudden,” she stammered theatrically.

“In that case, we’d better get the other jobs sorted,” she continued, reaching for her list once more.

“What jobs?” Beth enquired with curiosity. She’d only ever been to one wedding before. It was a girl from their Church who married young to her high school sweetheart. It was a beautiful event, and Beth couldn’t help the tears that fell from her eyes when she saw the bride walking down the aisle all dressed in white lace.

“You know, the wedding party. It’s going to be a simple process of elimination. I’m the maid of honor, Glenn will be the best man, Grace will be a bridesmaid, which leaves Sophia-” Maggie cocked her head to the side as she mentally listed the roles available in their tiny wedding party.

“Sophia is the flower girl, I guess,” she drew a bright pink tick next to Sophia’s name and sat back with a grin of approval on her face.

“Oh, if only-” Grace started, before she cut herself off, eyes downcast towards the tabletop.

“What’s wrong?” Beth lay her hand atop Grace’s in a soothing manner. Despite her concerns about the difficulty of planning a wedding when your own husband had been killed, Grace remained adamant that she lend a hand in the preparation for the day. She offered to lend a hand in just about every job. She was good like that. A team worker. Somebody who pulled their own weight.

“Nothing. I was going to say… but then I forgot that she… don’t worry,” she stammered, closing the bridal magazine and tossing it into the pile of magazines that Maggie had labelled “kindling” with a post-it note.

“You can say. It’s okay,” Beth urged gently, smiling sweetly up at her.

“I just wish my daughter was here. Isabella. She would have loved the chance to be a flower girl. On the last Christmas we had together, my husband bought her a ballerina dress. She would wear it almost every day, and she’d say that she was a flower girl for hire, just in case any bride in Senoia needed one. She wanted to be prepared,” Grace was smiling, but Beth could see the pain in her eyes.

“I grew roses in our front yard. Isabella would always trample across the garden beds in her pink boots and pick all of the prettiest roses for her bouquet. It made me so angry. I loved her, of course, but I would always tell her off. I regret that now,” she finished, blinking rapidly to clear the tears that were threatening to cloud her vision.

“She was young, it’s what little girls do,” Maggie chimed in with a gentle smile, reaching across the small table to squeeze Grace’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry if I upset you,” Beth added, hoping that Grace wasn’t regretting agreeing to her involvement in the wedding planning.

“No, don’t be silly. It’s about time I told you my story. If only I could decide where to begin,” she reached for her coffee and took a long gulp.

“What about your husband? I want to know what he was like,” Maggie offered, taking Grace’s drained cup and refilling it.

“His name was Andrew. We met at college. He was studying history and economics, I was studying art and literature. We were complete opposites. My family didn’t want us being together. They were racists, plain and simple. Anyway, I cut my parents out of my life and we were married one year later.”

“That must have been hard,” Beth pushed aside the magazines that covered the tabletop to listen properly to Grace’s story.

“It sounds that way, but it really wasn’t. Andrew and I were the best team. We bought a house together, had jobs we enjoyed, life was pretty damn easy. Then we had Isabella. Andrew’s parents lived a few blocks away, so we always had support.”

Grace paused to clear her throat.

“But then I was diagnosed with post-partum depression. I started having breakdowns, and I felt guilty for feeling that way when there was nothing technically wrong with my life. I had a loving husband, a well-paid job, a healthy and beautiful daughter, yet I still hated myself. I went into therapy for a little while. Andrew was so good to me. So patient. Isabella was too young to know what was happening, thank God. She noticed that I had changed, though. I couldn’t hide that from my little girl. It wasn’t more than a few years later when the world got all fucked up.”

“Where did you go when it started?” Beth murmured.

“We headed to Atlanta. We thought there’d be some answers there. All we found was even more confusion. So we headed into the trees. There was a few of us. Andrew brought all of his family. We lasted for a while out there, but those walkers kept picking us off one by one. Andrew had lost both his parents within a year, and suddenly there was only six of us left. I fell pregnant, and every day was the same battle to find safety by darkness. I was so afraid for what was going to happen when the baby came. I guess you know the feeling,” she paused to glance over at Beth’s stricken face as she blinked a tear from the corner of her eye.

“Of course. But at least I had my family here with me. We had the funeral home. You didn’t have any security,” Beth corrected, feeling full of empathy towards the woman on the other side of the table.

“We found a little rundown cottage towards the end. I was pretty big, about seven months or so. We thought we were safe, but Andrew had forgotten to check the cellar. There were five walkers down there, and when we went to sleep they made their way up to the living room and attacked us. I remember waking up with Andrew screaming at me, and pulling me to my feet. It didn’t even register to me that I could smell blood. I was screaming for Isabella, but I couldn’t hear her. I climbed up into the attic, but a zombie grabbed Andrew and pulled him down. I had to sit and watch him die in front of me.” Grace trailed off, digging her fingernails into the flesh of her forearm at the pain of her memories.

“My water broke about an hour later. I knew I was in labor, but I couldn’t do anything for my baby. I gave birth that night. I named her Lily. She didn’t take a single breath. I stayed in the attic with her until the walkers finally wandered off. When I climbed back down, I saw what was left of Isabella. I wrapped Lily in my scarf and laid her next to her sister. I’ve lost track of how many weeks or months I spent walking through the woods. I barely ate or drank. I couldn’t sleep without having violent nightmares. I was so close to giving up. And then – well, you guys know the rest,” she trailed off, suddenly hyperaware that she had probably provided a little too much detail.

Maggie and Beth remained frozen across the table from her, mouths agape as they struggled to process her story.

“Fuck,” Maggie finally breathed, while Beth let out a small sob.

“That’s why I can’t ever put into words how grateful I am to you. You saved my life,” Grace reached over to wrap her arm around Beth’s narrow shoulders as they shook with the effort of withholding her sobs.

“You’re part of our family now, Grace. You aren’t alone anymore,” Maggie soothed her gently, letting Grace’s head fall onto her shoulder as she hastily wiped at her shining eyes.

“I’m okay, I’m sorry. God, I didn’t mean to ruin the mood for everyone. I like this dress, Beth. You’d look gorgeous in that cut,” Grace quickly switched subjects, wishing only to put the past behind her now. All of the pain and suffering she had endured was part of her old life. For the first time in recent memory, Grace felt that her future here was somewhat bright. She had new family, two women who loved and cared for her. Two men who protected and provided for them. And sweet baby Sophia. An angel in the middle of hell.

As if Sophia could somehow sense when somebody thought of her, her chubby arms immediately reached forward from her baby seat on the mat. She fussed impatiently whilst Beth hurried over to her to tend to whatever issues had arisen.

“Sorry, she’s feeling a bit fussy at the moment. Can’t find nothing wrong with her, she’s fed and changed and warm…” Beth trailed off, hoisting Sophia to her hip and jiggling her up and down in an effort to quieten her squawks.

Grace bit her lip to hold herself back from what she was about to say. She wanted to hold her, tiny Sophia. She was one of the most beautiful children she had ever laid eyes on, and her glistening blue orbs appeared to withhold more wisdom than any infant’s should. Grace glanced up long enough to see that Beth had noticed her glazed expression.

“Do you want to hold her?” Beth’s voice was unsure of whatever Grace’s reaction may be. This woman had just lost her children. Was it cruel to hand her a perfectly healthy, adorable bundle of joy to remind her of everything she had so violently lost? Or would it serve as some sort of comforter, to feel that baby soft skin and to smell her curly blonde hair and reminisce for the shortest of moments.

“Could I? You don’t mind?” Grace’s voice almost cracked at the idea.

“Course you can. Here, be careful, she’s heavier than expected,” Beth handed the whining Sophia over to Grace, taking notice of the automatic and reflexive motion with which she cradled Sophia against her chest, hands smoothing out her onesie and stopping to tickle her kicking feet.

She held Sophia with ease, as though she had been holding babies her entire life. Beth remembered Daryl and her awkward and fumbling first attempts at holding their baby daughter in the weeks following her premature arrival. She had seemed so fragile, so breakable that Daryl became adamant that his own work-wearied hands were too tough, too brutal for the delicate soft skin and tiny bones of his daughter.

But now, Beth would often catch Daryl with Sophia, holding her close, his nose buried in her blonde hair as she giggled and grumbled and babbled nonsensically. She would never admit that she loved intruding upon those most private moments, loved witnessing a side of Daryl that even she herself had not yet seen. He was never more himself then when he was with his daughter. Sometimes, he even sang for her. Granted, his renditions tended to be of songs that Beth would rather her daughter did not listen to, but his affections still warmed her heart.

After those initial months of anxiety, Daryl’s nerves settled. He was soon comfortable enough to scoop Sophia out of her carrier with one large hand, cradling her close to his chest as he relaxed by the fire or checked the Walker alarms early each morning. The house was constantly filled with the excitable squeals of their daughter as Daryl tickled her sides, her legs dangling above the ground as he spun her around. He was a good father, scratch that, an amazing father. He had taken to fatherhood like a duck to water, and Beth was grateful each and every day that she had chosen this man to share her life with.

Now, looking across the table as Grace gently bounced Sophia in her arms, an unfamiliar silence fell around the room. Sophia was asleep. Passed out. Her tiny lashes fluttered against the tops of her cheeks as she snoozed peacefully in Grace’s embrace.

“Holy crap. You’re amazing,” Maggie breathed in awe, catching the glow of embarrassment that flushed her cheeks at the compliment.

“No, it’s nothing,” she attempted to brush them off.

“Honestly, Grace. None of us can soothe her that quickly. You’ve got a magic touch!” Beth raised her eyebrow inquisitively, attempting to locate any secret advantage that Grace’s arms had over her own.

“You know, all the parenting books say that you’re supposed to cot-train your infant from a few weeks of age. Apparently it’s considered ‘spoiling’ them if you allow them to sleep in your arms. They’ll never transition into a bed. But I call bullshit on that. I let Isabelle fall asleep in my arms until she was 18 months, and we never had any difficulties training her to sleep alone!” Grace smiled, eyes flickering down every few seconds to admire Sophia.

“I’d say the world’s too fucked up to worry too much about spoiling a child. Don’t think Sophia’s ever gonna be spoiled. She’s just loved,” Daryl’s voice resonated throughout the kitchen as he appeared in the doorway, evidently having just overhead the latter part of that conversation.

Beth felt a breath of air escape her as she took in his appearance. He was unusually clean, his hair slicked back and dripping from his shower, which Beth was suddenly quite jealous that she wasn’t invited to.

“What are your plans for today, ladies?” he enquired casually as he straddled one of the kitchen chairs and began cleaning congealed walker blood from his bolts.

Maggie suddenly jumped as she remembered the forgotten wedding magazines spread across the tabletop, and hurried to remove them from his sight.

“Damn it, Daryl. You ain’t supposed to see this stuff!” she chided gently, relieved for the welcome change of subject. Daryl laughed dryly at the look of momentary panic that crossed the girl’s faces.

“Ain’t no secret. Unless you got an undead Vera Wang locked up in the basement sewing you a dress,” ignoring the hiccup of surprise from Beth.

“You know who Vera Wang is?” the look of disbelief on Beth’s face was enough to make him regret his joke. He shrugged as noncommittally as possible, attempting to dodge any sarcastic comments heading his way.

“Daryl, I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to offer you guys something. For your wedding,” Grace piped up as she laid Sophia back in her bouncer with a gentle ease.

“What are you talking about?” Beth enquired inquisitively as she watched Grace fumbling with something in her hands.

“Well, I can’t find you a proper wedding present, and every couple deserves something special on their big day,” she prefaced, watching the expression of anticipation growing on Beth’s face. She grinned as she managed to pull the golden wedding band from her finger, glancing momentarily at the stark white tan mark left behind on her finger.

“What are you doing?” Beth’s voice was shaky as she watched Grace wiping off the wedding band and sliding it across the kitchen table where it sat, unmoving.

“I want you to have my wedding ring.”

“What! Grace, are you crazy?” Beth gasped, holding up her hands insistently in refusal of the offer. It was too much for Grace to hand over the most valuable possession she owned.

“Please, Beth. You saved my life. That wedding ring is a symbol of the love I had for Andrew, and for the amazing five years of marriage we had together. He’s gone now, but the love is still there. If anyone deserves it, it’s you two,” she smiled, sliding the ring further along the table until it touched Beth’s hand.

Her small hand accepted the ring, admiring its beauty in the morning light.

“Really, Grace, you don’t have to-” Daryl started, but Grace cut him off with a nod of her head.

“I want to. I really do. Please.” She sat back in her chair, folding her arms and grinning at the look of excitement on Beth’s face.

“I can’t just take this from you. Here, how about a swap?” Beth offered, her eyes wide as her fingers went to unclasp the necklace she wore around her neck each day.

“Are you sure?” Grace said, noticing the fondness that flashed across Beth’s eyes as she fingered the charm before placing the silver chain into the woman’s hand.

“I’m positive. I doubt it’s worth much, but it’s gotten me through some hard times,” Beth smiled.

“Oh, hey, that reminds me!” Daryl suddenly recalled, his hands digging through his jeans pocket until he pulled out a small gift box. His fingers made short work of the black box, snapping it open to reveal the Cherokee Rose silver pendant inside.

“While you lot were looting bridal magazines, I was robbing a jewelry store. There wasn’t much left, but I was gonna add it to your necklace, Beth,” he watched the glimmer of affection in Beth’s eyes as she admired the cut of the silver rose charm.

“What made you choose the Cherokee Rose?” Grace asked.

Daryl chuckled.

“It’s a long story, Grace. We knew a woman, she was part of our group. She had a daughter named Sophia, who went missing. I spent weeks looking for her. All I found was a damn Cherokee Rose. It’s a symbol of protection for children,” his fingertip traced the outline of the charm for a moment, reminiscing.

“Well if that’s the case, I think that Sophia should be the one to wear it,” Grace suggested. She quickly unknotted the leather bracelet she wore around her wrist, tearing a thin strip off it and threading the charm onto it.

“Here. Maybe for around her ankle?” she handed the anklet to Daryl and watched as he bent over Sophia’s crib to tie the material around one chubby ankle.

“Perfect. See, now she’s safe,” Grace laughed as Sophia’s soft giggling filled the room as Daryl tickled the soles of her feet mercilessly.


	6. Finding The Words

Beth clasped her coffee cup between her chilly fingers as she perched on the stiff wooden stairs that bordered their front porch. The morning air was crisp and stung the back of her throat with each inhalation, so she buried her nose into the warm steam of her coffee. She heard the creak of the front door and the gentle tapping of Maggie’s footsteps as her sister perched next to her.

“Ain’t you getting cold out here?” her warm voice murmured to her left. She shook her head stubbornly, despite the slight shiver that travelled down her spine as she did so.

“Nuh-uh. Plus, I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” Beth raised an eyebrow at Grace, who was standing a good fifty feet ahead of her in the grassy area out the front of the funeral home.

Beth frowned slightly. She really needed to stop referring to this place as a funeral home. It was no longer a place of death and loss. This house had seen Beth and Daryl fall together, had found Maggie and Glenn on its front stoop, had been the birthplace of Sophia, and had been the haven that Grace had stumbled across during the darkest day of her life. This house was full of life, not sorrow.

“Okay, you gotta keep a steady hand or else the recoil is gonna knock you on your ass. Here, use both hands for starters. It’s not ideal, but it’ll help with your aim until you’ve practiced.” Daryl’s authoritative tone jolted Beth from her daydreams, and she quickly focused on Grace. She had never seen the woman look so unsure of anything in the short time they had known each other. Poor Grace. She was a lover, not a fighter.

“Uh, like this?” Her hands were wrapped around the gun clumsily, her fingers overlapping.

“Close, just make sure you use your non-dominant hand as your support. Here… try like this,” Daryl pulled back on her left wrist so that only her right hand was holding the gun, and repositioned her fingers around the grip for added control.

“Okay. Now take your time. Take a deep breath. Try and shoot down those bottles,” Daryl nodded in the direction of the 6 empty glass bottles he had set up on the fence line of their property. Beth was immediately reminded of her own shooting lessons which had taken place a lifetime ago, when her stomach was rounding out and she was determined to learn how to defend herself after her close escape at the convenience store.

She smiled wistfully as she imagined how ridiculous she must have looked, standing in the front yard with a pregnant belly and a loaded handgun, shooting at bottles and tin cans whilst Daryl shouted encouragement from the sidelines.

Grace’s hands were not as confident as her own had been, and their shaking took its toll on her first shot which sailed to the right of the last bottle by a good ten feet.

“Oh, damn it!” she huffed impatiently.

“Don’t sweat it. It’s your posture. You’re too tense. Just breathe,” he stepped up behind her and dug his thumbs into her shoulder blades until she straightened up.

“Alright, second shot. Let’s go.”

Her next round of bullets missed the bottles by two feet. Much closer than last time, and incredibly noisy as the sounds ricocheted off the shed and the house, filling the small clearing with the sound of gunfire.

“Hope there isn’t a horde nearby,” Maggie breathed, her eyes scanning the tree line nervously. Daryl had obviously wondered the same thing as he loaded a fresh bolt into his crossbow while he waited for Grace to reload.

The last round of shots were considerably better. Her shots managed to smash six of the nine bottles lined up, which was a marked improvement from a few mere moments before.

“See! Posture is everything,” he commended as he held out his hand for the gun. She returned it to his outstretched palm gingerly as if she were deathly afraid of an explosion.

“Uh, that was great. I really appreciate you showing me how to protect myself and everything, but would you mind terribly if I get back to planning your wedding now? That is considerably less stressful, and it doesn’t require me to waste any of your precious bullets,” Grace pleaded. Daryl laughed and nodded good-naturedly.

“Go on, then. When’s the special day, anyway?” he enquired casually as he reloaded the handgun and stuck it into the back of his jeans for safe keeping.

“Tomorrow. Well, hopefully, if the weather holds out,” she smiled softly before heading up the porch steps and pulling Beth to her feet, leaving Daryl standing in shock in the middle of the clearing.

“W-what? Tomorrow? Am I supposed to write something?” he finally found his voice as they disappeared through the front door.

“Just your vows, Romeo!” Beth called back over her shoulder, shooting him a seductive wink as she disappeared into the shadows of their home.

Goddamn, shit and fuck.

Daryl was stressed and confused and suddenly felt completely incapable of writing anything in such a short time frame. Was it even possible to construct English words that accurately explained the feelings he had for Beth Greene? To define all of the ways that she had changed him, and loved him, and sacrificed for him? Daryl Dixon never had a way with words, and the fact that he hadn’t finished middle school made him doubt his ability to string a long and emotive speech together in such a short period of time.

He trudged back into the house, hearing the excited squealed of Maggie, Grace and Beth from one of the upstairs bedrooms. He decided to distance himself from the estrogen overhaul, and headed for the kitchen where Glenn was filleting and salting a rabbit.

“How was shooting practice?” Glenn asked over his shoulder as he heard Daryl slump into the kitchen and pull out a chair. His lack of response made him turn to evaluate whatever emotional state that Daryl was currently in.

“What’s wrong? Too many women in this house?” he laughed wryly at Daryl’s posture.

“Glenn, I’m getting married tomorrow. I have to write vows, and I have no idea how to even begin,” he grunted.

“Damn, that’s a tough one. Wish I could be of more help, but neither Maggie nor I wrote vows for our own wedding. It was more of a fast-paced let’s-get-married-before-we-die scenario. But keep it simple, Daryl. She knows you love her, and vows are pretty much just telling someone you love them in a hundred different ways, right?”

Daryl shrugged, completely defeated.

“I’m no writer. Can barely string a damn sentence together. Don’t even know why she’s choosing to spend the rest of her life with me in the first place. What if I fuck it up and she realizes last minute that it’s not what she wants?”

“Daryl, don’t be so stupid. She’s had a million chances to run away and she hasn’t taken a single one,” Glenn grinned, but his attempt at humor was lost on Daryl.

“I’m stuck, Glenn. I’m gonna fuck it up.”

Daryl heard Glenn’s footsteps and the squeal of the chair as he took a seat across the table from Daryl. The kitchen tabletop was still littered with countless bridal magazines, and he wondered briefly whether there was any helpful tips on vow-writing hidden within those hideous pink pages, but quickly decided against it.

“You can’t fuck it up. She loves you. You love her. You have a daughter. You’ve been through hell together, and you always come out the other side smiling. Stop stressing out, and just write down everything you can about her. What do you love about her? What are you going to promise her? It doesn’t have to be a piece of poetry. I’m sure that her expectations are realistic by now,” Glenn chuckled as Daryl shot him a frustrated glance.

“It ain’t that easy, Glenn. I’m not like that. I can’t even put into words how I feel about her, you know? I know that life is shitty, and we’re living on rations, and we’ve lost so many of our friends, but – but none of that even really matters at the end of the day, because I’ve got her. She’s always there, waiting for me to come home with that stupid beautiful smile on her face that just makes me feel like I can’t be angry at the world, not while she’s still in it.” Daryl failed to notice the pen that Glenn had procured and the frantic way that he was scribbling on a scrap piece of paper while nodding in an attempt to encourage Daryl to continue.

“And-and, I still don’t understand why she loves me, or why she’s chosen me. I know she hates it when I question her, but how can you blame me? She’s so fucking beautiful, and she loves everybody unconditionally. She’s given me something that I never expected to have in my life, and certainly never thought I would deserve. She’s the fucking sun, you know? And I can’t imagine a world where she isn’t there every single day. I need her, and I don’t know whether that’s selfish, but I don’t care. I just know that I want to make her happy, and provide for her, and raise a family with her, for the rest of my life.” He paused, glancing up at Glenn in defeat.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about writing those vows, Daryl,” he smirked, finishing his scribbles before sliding the sheet of paper across the table to Daryl.

“Why’s that?” Daryl picked up the notepaper and squinted as he attempted to decipher the scrawled writing.

“Because you’ve just written them. What you said is perfect. Now do me a favor and gather the giggling girls for dinner. I found a shitload of mushrooms this morning in the woods, so I made mushroom soup to go with the rabbit. I won’t lie, it’s lumpy as fuck, but I’m sick and tired of deer!” Glenn returned to the stovetop without a second glance, save for the snide grin he concealed well. So Daryl did have the ability to profess his love, he just wasn’t incredibly self-aware of it.

“Thanks.” Daryl could feel his heartbeat thudding rapidly in his chest as he read over the words that Glenn had written down, noticing the absence of the “fucking”’s he had used for emphasis. He was right. This was what he needed to tell her. This was what she needed to know. He hastily folded the notepaper and shoved it into the pocket of his jeans before heading up the stairs to hurry his future wife downstairs for Glenn’s famous grey and lumpy mushroom soup.


	7. You Win Some, You Lose Some

The mushroom soup was not a hit, but it provided a satisfying saltiness and filled their stomachs for the night. The girls chattered excitably around the small kitchen table as they ate their fill of soup and rabbit, but Daryl could not take his eyes off of Beth. He watched her, admiring the shine of her eyes and the crinkle that formed on her forehead when she laughed particularly hard.

His thoughts strayed to the folded square of paper burning a hole through the back pocket of his jeans, filled with the words he was tempted to just shout at her right now, because he wasn’t sure he could wait until tomorrow to truly confess what she was to him. The fucking sun.

A loud clanking sound awoke him from his daydreams as Maggie cleared the plates from around the table, and Grace began to rinse the cutlery in the sink. Everyone was packing it in for the night, preparing for the event of the next day. The wedding day. Their wedding. The day that Daryl and Beth would officially become Mr. and Mrs. Dixon (or, as official as it could get in an apocalyptic situation). Daryl’s mind was still reeling at the idea of marriage, although he reasoned that he had been living with and raising a child with her for the past year anyway, so a gold band and a few pretty words would hardly make a difference.

“I’m going to feed Sophia,” a soft voice chirped up from besides him as Beth pushed out her chair, brushing her hand gently across his forearm as she passed him, leaving behind her faint scent of vanilla.

“Hey, Daryl, can you help me bring in some of the firewood? I don’t want the fire to burn low overnight,” Maggie asked, gesturing to the kitchen door.

“Yep, sure,” Daryl shrugged into his jacket before following Maggie out the front door and to the side of the house where a large collection of firewood was protected by a tarpaulin. They made a habit of taking wood whenever they went on runs or hunts, to ensure they never ran low. Now that they had a baby in the house, it was of great importance that there was always access to warmth and light.

“Uh, listen,” Maggie started, and he braced himself for whatever motivational speech she was about to regurgitate all over him.

“I know we didn’t get off to the best start, with you and Beth, I mean,” she paused, awaiting his agreement.

“Uh-huh,” he grunted.

“But, I just want you to know that I love you. You can be a real asshole sometimes, but you’re a good man and father, and anyone can see that you love my sister,” she continued.

“You really ever doubted that?” he grumbled.

“No, I haven’t. I’m happy that you and Beth are getting married. I’m excited that you’re going to be a part of my family, even though it’s been that way for a long time now. And Sophia – she’s perfect and I would do anything for that little girl. I hope that you fill this house with children, because-” suddenly her voice broke, and Daryl could hear sobs catching in her throat. He was suddenly weary that there was something more to her emotional outburst.

“Maggie, you okay?” he replaced the pile of wood he had collected back onto the tarpaulin so that he could reach out to squeeze her shoulder reassuringly, although he was terrified of what might happen next.

“Yes, I’m fine. I’m sorry. I’m just emotional,” she sniffed noisily and wiped at her eyes which were sprouting fresh tears that ran dramatically down her face.

“You’re not fine.” He made no request to probe for more information, leaving it up to Maggie if she chose to divulge anything more. There was a pregnant pause while she caught her breath.

“I hope that you and Beth fill this house with children, because I can’t.”

Her voice was almost devoid of emotion, as if she was restraining herself to reduce the chance of collapsing into tears.

“What are you talking about?” Daryl had never claimed to be an expert on women’s fertility, but he was pretty damn sure that there were no tests in this empty world that would provide Maggie with evidence of this.

“We’ve been trying.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing. You’re stressed, you’re hardly eating. It’ll happen, Maggie-”

“No, Daryl. We’ve been trying for three years. Since we were married. I had – have a condition. I was diagnosed when I was 18, and I was told that I’d need medication and fertility treatments before I could even begin trying for children. But I was young, and I didn’t know what was gonna happen to the world. So now I have a marriage and a husband and a home, and I can’t have the children I’ve always wanted.”

“Jesus, Maggie. I’m sorry-”

“It’s okay. I’ve accepted it, and so has Glenn. But- but I’ve never talked to Beth about it. She doesn’t know. Please, don’t bring it up. I’ll tell her in my own time. I don’t want to ruin your day with my stupid problems. Doesn’t make sense really, to be so focused on having children when the world is falling apart. Maybe it’s for the best,” she attempted to shrug off the pain in her eyes as she wrapped her arms around the large load of firewood that Daryl had abandoned earlier.

“Of course. I don’t have a problem filling this house with babies, but I should probably ask Beth first. Hell, if we pop out too many, I’m sure you could take a couple,” he breathed a sigh of relief at the grin that crossed her face momentarily.

“Careful what you wish for, Dixon. I might take you up on that offer!” she replied before she started back towards the house with her huge load of firewood stacked in her arms.

Daryl followed suit, and immediately began adding the smaller pieces of firewood to the burnt out coals on the bottom of the fireplace. It didn’t take long to catch, and before long the fire was high and hot, warming the kitchen and lounge room beautifully.

Maggie excused herself to go upstairs and shower, while Glenn and Grace scrubbed furiously at the pot that had concealed burnt mushroom adhered to its base.

Daryl bid his goodnights to them before heading upstairs to his fiancé – fuck it – his wife. He found her curled up in the armchair at the side of their bed, Sophia’s body cradled lovingly in her arms as she gently rubbed her back to settle her after her feed.

“Did I miss the show?” he grinned, waggling an eyebrow suggestively.

“You did!” she wrinkled her nose at him playfully.

“Don’t you know that it’s bad luck to see the bride the night before the wedding?” she added, fixing him with an accusatory look.

“Well I don’t figure myself for much of a traditionalist, do you?” he replied, shaking off his vest and jacket and kicking them into a corner of the room until tomorrow. Fuck! Was he supposed to have something more appropriate and gentlemanly to wear to his own wedding? He made a mental note to search the entire house. It was a funeral home, surely they had a few dusty old suits left behind.

“You’re not to see my dress until the wedding at least. We’ve got to keep some traditions sacred,” she teased, as if reading his own mind.

“You got a dress?” he was dumbfounded at the knowledge that the girls had smuggled a wedding dress into the house without him even knowing.

“Yes. Well, it’s a white dress. Not technically a wedding dress, but it’s perfect for us.”

He nodded, secretly excited about seeing her walking towards him in a white dress holding flowers or some other kind of girly shit.

“A white dress, huh? Ain’t that supposed to be a symbol of virginity?” he smirked wickedly at her, knowing just how to push her buttons.

“Considering I’m marrying the man who is solely responsible for my lack of virginity, I don’t think we’re bending the rules too much,” she replied quickly but with an alluring smile as she stood and placed Sophia gently back into her crib at the foot of the bed.

“Wish I could say the same,” he murmured as he kicked off his boots. It was painfully true that he regretted each and every woman he’d known intimately before her. How could anything have been worth it in comparison to Beth? He subconsciously hated the fact that she had given everything to him, whilst he was plagued by memories of one night stands he would prefer to have forgotten.

“Aww, what’s troubling you?” he focused on the way her fingers unbuckled her belt and slid her jeans down her legs to avoid answering her.

“Nothin’” he sighed as he realized before the word had even left his mouth that this response was never enough for Beth.

“Come on. Tell me. No secrets.” She peeled off her t-shirt and replaced it with a loose fitting white shirt that Daryl was pretty certain used to belong to him, until she had stolen it. He shrugged her off as he climbed into their bed, stacking the pillows against each other so he could sit upright comfortably. He watched Beth start crawling towards him, and opened his legs in an unspoken invitation for her to lay between them. She ignored his offer and swung one leg over his lap until she was straddling him, her face level with his so that he could not escape her.

“Nothing is wrong, how many times I gotta’ say it?” he trailed off, letting his eyes focus primarily on the ample cleavage that was peeking over the top of the neckline that hung low on her tiny frame.

“Are you getting cold feet?” Beth’s voice sounded so small that he knew she was feeling vulnerable. The immediate guilt that filled his stomach at the knowledge that his own stubbornness had caused her to feel this way made him jerk his eyes upwards to make contact with hers. Her eyes were as blue as ever, but he could see the inkling of tears forming in their corners.

His lack of response only served to heighten her anxiety as she shifted nervously in his lap, her nails pressing half-crescent indentations into the palm of her hands. He hurried to unfurl her hands in his, placing her palms flat against his pectorals in an effort to calm her. He hoped that she could feel the fluttering of his heart.

“Never, Beth. I promise you,” he felt her sag against him in relief.

“You are the best damn thing that has ever happened to me. I just worry, because I don’t know how to be a husband. I don’t want to disappoint you. Not now. Not after everything we’ve been through.”

“Daryl, you never expected to be a father either and you’re a natural. Fatherhood is much more difficult than being a husband,” she reassured him, stroking his face as he leaned into the comfort of her touch.

“Besides, it’s not as though anything is going to change. We’re basically married already. As long as you promise me right now that our sex life won’t disintegrate into a pile of dust, I cannot wait to be your wife,” she giggled at the expression on his face.

“That won’t be a problem,” he grinned.

“Are you sure?” she teased as his hands dug into her hipbones to grind her warmth against the erection that was rapidly stiffening in his boxer briefs. “Will you still find me attractive after I’ve given birth to all of your children and I’m covered in stretch marks?” there was a lilt to her voice that suggested she was joking, however her question was completely valid.

“Absolutely. I’ll kiss every single stretch mark on your body each night,” he breathed into the warm skin of her neck, his hands spanning the flat of her stomach and pushing her shirt out of the way until his palms slid against the silky softness of her skin.

“Will you still want me when I’m your wife?” she pulled away from him to ask, relishing his frustrated groan at the loss of contact.

He twisted a hand into the golden curls that fell around her face in response, pulling her mouth to his for a kiss. These moments were to be cherished. It wasn’t the chaste, polite yet sweet kisses they peppered each other with throughout the day. This kiss was full of heat, and passion, and perhaps just a touch of desperation as their tongues battled for dominance.

“Every fucking day,” he growled. She stifled a laugh as his breath tickled her neck.

“And do you promise that we won’t become that boring married couple that has sex only in the missionary position once a month?” she continued insistently. He couldn’t withhold his chuckle at her final request. For her to believe for the shortest moment that he would ever lose his desire for her was absurd.

“Darling, I’ll jackhammer you into the mattress every single night if you want me to,” he drawled, enjoying the squeak that escaped her at his proposition.

“Oh, Mr. Dixon, don’t ever lose your romantic streak,” she giggled, her head dropping to the crook of his neck as his wandering hands tickled her sides briefly before moving up to cup her breasts gently. Her teeth dug tantalizingly into her bottom lip at the sensation, hips sliding against his almost subconsciously in the search for friction.

“Hmmm, I don’t think we should be doing this. We should wait until tomorrow night,” Beth attempted to reason with him, even as her shirt was being pulled over her head and she could see the evidence of her own arousal, soaking through her panties and glistening on his lower stomach as she rocked against him.

“If you want me to stop, I’ll stop,” he replied, and Beth didn’t even have time to respond before his hot mouth was at her breast, his teeth teasingly scraping against her nipple and sending spasms of pure pleasure down her spine. She gritted her teeth in an attempt to remain quiet enough that Sophia wouldn’t waken.

“Definitely don’t stop,” she whimpered.

“You know, I can always go ahead and sleep downstairs if you’d prefer,” he continued as he wrapped his arm around her waist and rolled her over until she was underneath him, prone and incredibly aroused.

She felt her panties being yanked down her legs, and as she looked up from beneath hooded lids she could only watch helplessly at the sight of Daryl between her legs, one thin white ankle grasped in each hand as he stared down at her spread-eagled body with what could only be described as a carnal hunger.

“Don’t you dare leave! You’ve got to finish what you started,” she intended to sound demanding, but her voice had the tone of pleading and begging that stroked Daryl’s ego tenderly. Her entire body jolted when she felt his warm hand cupping her sex, softly stroking her with tender swipes of his wet fingers.

“You’re always so wet for me, baby,” he breathed, watching her cheeks redden at his comment.

“Can’t help it. It’s all your fault,” she managed to choke out between gasps as one fingertip found her clitoris and circled it softly.

“Let me make it up to you,” he grinned wolfishly before pushing one leg over each shoulder and pressing a wet kiss to her center.

“Ah!” her hips lifted off the mattress before he slung his arm across her waist so that she could not move away from him. She was completely at his mercy, and she quickly became convinced that she was going to explode.

He wasn’t fucking around. He knew by now exactly how to make his woman squirm and plead for release beneath his practiced tongue, and within minutes he could feel the muscles of her stomach jumping in anticipation. Her cries were getting louder, and he was dreading the moment that Sophia would awaken and start to bellow. Without really thinking about the consequences of his actions, he released the left side of her hip and thrust two fingers into Beth’s mouth not a moment too soon.

Beth was a biter.

“Fuck!” he hissed as her orgasm washed over her, her muscles pulsing and her teeth clamped a little too firmly around his fingers.

“You alright, Dracula?” he pressed a warm kiss to her inner thigh once he had managed to extract his fingers from the vice of her teeth to assess the damage. No blood, but very pronounced bite marks.

Beth could not reply. She lay there, looking as though she’d just been drugged.

“Did I hurt you?” she finally managed to whisper, sitting up slowly but with a thoroughly concerned expression on her face that warmed Daryl’s heart.

“It’s not the worst part of my anatomy that you could have bitten,” he replied, climbing back up her body to press soft and gentle kisses to her lips and ignoring her eye roll at his comment.

“Hey!” she gasped in realization. “This is officially the last time you’ll ever make love to Beth Greene,” she smiled drunkenly up at him.

“I’d better make it interesting then, shouldn’t I?” he could feel her insistent little hands pulling down his boxer briefs and encasing his length lovingly.

“How do you want me, Mr. Dixon?” she blinked up at him from beneath those thick lashes, looking so completely seductive that for a moment Daryl forgot her question.

“Anything, anywhere, need to be inside you,” he was stunned for a moment when she pulled back from him to wriggle around in his arms until her bottom was pressed deliciously against his length.

“I think I want it from behind. Does that sound okay to you, Mr. Dixon?” she fluttered her lashes at him from over her shoulder, but her flirting was lost on him from the moment he watched her turn over in front of him. Every man’s ultimate weakness, and he was no exception.

“Fuck, yes,” he growled as he teased her with the tip of his dick, tracing her slit until she started to rock back in an attempt to take him in. He didn’t put up much resistance, pushing forward into that familiar yet intoxicating wet warmth that squeezed his length so deliciously.

“Oh God, just like that,” she murmured as he watched the arch of her back accentuate with each forward thrust.

“Jesus Christ, woman,” he growled, torn between wanting to fuck her into oblivion and needing to reassure her of his love. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from their point of contact, drinking in the wet sounds of their fucking and the intermittent gasps that escaped the girl on her hands and knees in front of him.

“Harder, please,” she whispered breathlessly, and he gritted his teeth to stop from coming at the sound of their sex, and the desperation in her voice, and her request to be pounded into the mattress. His hands locked around the top of her pelvis to pull her back at the exact same time he thrust forward. He could feel himself hitting her cervix, the unfamiliar sensation only serving to remind him that once again, he had forgotten a goddamn condom because he obviously had the intelligence of a horny teenager.

He let his hand slip down between her legs, locating her clitoris too easily and circling it frantically with sticky fingers. Her soft and breathy moans quickly became almost keening cries.

“Oh God, you’re gonna make me come,” she squeaked, her hand clasping over his and her nails digging into his skin in anticipation.

“Do you want me to pull out?” he managed to choke out as he felt her body convulsing around him, the muscles of her walls milking his length and just begging him to finish. As much as he wanted to just go with it, he had too much respect for Beth to just knock her up before she was ready. If she wanted him to pull out, he undoubtedly would without any questions.

“No! Please. I want to feel you. Oh god, oh god, oh god-“

“That’s not my name,” he growled, not bothering to ask twice as he pounded into her welcoming body until the ball of tension ruptured and he let out a groan of satisfaction as he spilled into the vice of her body. Beth arched her back, enjoying the throbbing sensation as he reached his release.

“I fucking love you so much,” she heard him mumble once he had regained the ability to construct sentences. He nuzzled into her neck, lingering in the scent of sweat and sex.

“I love you more,” she replied automatically, wincing as he eased out of her body and pulled her onto his chest.

“That’s not possible, darling,” he quipped, a ridiculously naïve thing to say but he still believed it to be true.

“We’re getting married tomorrow,” Beth grinned sleepily as she traced lazy patterns across his chest.

“I know we are. I can’t wait to be your husband,” he brushed a soft kiss to her forehead, already noting her eyelids closing.

“I can’t wait to be your wife,” she yawned hugely, making him chuckle.

Within minutes, she was asleep, curled into his chest like a brand new puppy. Daryl remained bright-eyed, staring up at the ceiling. There was one image that he couldn’t get out of his head.

Beth, the love of his life, slumped on the bathroom floor in a pool of her own blood.

Maggie holding Sophia’s lifeless body in her arms, one hand performing delicate compressions whilst the other hand supported his daughter’s head, administering rescue breaths and waiting for that infant’s chest to rise and fall.

He tasted bile at the mere memory of that day. It didn’t matter that both his lover and his child had survived. It could have ended up an entirely different way.

He glanced down at the blonde form that was wrapped around him, and swallowed down his feelings of nausea. He had remembered too late how close he had come to losing her from the birth of Sophia, and once more they were back to square one.

He squeezed his eyes shut and drafted out a quick prayer to any and all Gods in existence that Beth wasn’t ovulating, that he hadn’t just conceived another life that was hell-bent on stealing that of his wife. He suddenly wasn’t sure he was ready yet, couldn’t stomach the thought of losing her right now.

Closing his eyes, he squeezed Beth’s warmth as a reminder that she was still very much alive as he let his eyelids slide shut and sleep blurred the busy networks of his brain.


	8. Fitting The Suit

**Sorry for the delay, hubby was down fighting a huge bushfire for a few weeks, causing a very stressful household for the rest of us! Just a short fluffy piece before the big day. I hope you enjoy :) Please a review if you can, it motivates me so much.**

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Daryl shot up in bed, decidedly disheveled yet willing to fight for his life when he felt an unfamiliar finger prodding him in the back. His peripheral vision reassured him that Beth remained, perfectly safe and still beside him. Maggie, however, was a completely unexpected guest in the darkness of their bedroom. She stood awkwardly over him, her hands flapping dramatically to indicate that he shouldn’t talk, shouldn’t disturb Beth.

“What?” he mouthed, still incredibly tired and irked at being awoken by his almost-sister-in-law.

“Come here,” she mouthed back, taking silent steps towards the bedroom door towards the landing. She left the room and waited by the door so that Daryl had the opportunity to reach for his boxers before following her.

“Someone better be dying,” he grunted as he closed their bedroom door behind him.

“This is important, stop being so grumpy. It’s your wedding day!” Maggie reprimanded him.

“It’s 2 o’clock in the fucking morning, is what it is. What do you need me for?” He begrudgingly allowed Maggie to shepherd him down the hallway towards the bedroom she shared with Glenn.

“We found something for you. For tomorrow. You should try it on.” That was all the information she was offering, and Daryl knew from experience that it would be useless attempting to pry any further.

Glenn was lint-brushing a smart tuxedo suit that was hanging from the closet door in their bedroom. Daryl had to admit that his sleep-deprived brain lit up for a moment at the sight of the suit. It was handsome, he knew that much. He also knew that he’d never worn a thing half as nice in his entire existence.

“Daryl. Come here. There are a few – erm, sizes available, we just wanted to make sure we cleaned the right one.” He glanced quickly at Maggie who kept her eyes focused intently on the carpet at her feet.

“Clean-?” Daryl trailed off as his brain slowly began to process the entirety of the situation.

“Did you take this suit off a corpse?” he groaned in disgust.

“Shh!” Maggie hushed immediately.

“Technically, we took the suit off an embalmed cadaver, if that helps?” Glenn shrugged apologetically as he held out the suit jacket to Daryl. He hesitated before taking it gingerly in his hand, the weight of it heavier than he expected.

“Why are you doing this?” Daryl raised an eyebrow in disbelief. They knew him by now, knew him to his very core. Daryl Dixon did not wear suits. Although, to be fair, Daryl Dixon also didn’t generally fall in love and propose to women either. Perhaps this apocalypse had changed him in more ways than he realized.

“Damn it, Maggie, I told you we’d have to wrestle him into it!” Glenn grimaced.

“Of course we won’t. Daryl is going to put on this expensive tuxedo, because my sister deserves a proper wedding despite the state of the world, and I’m sure as hell not letting this asshole marry her in a pair of dirty jeans and a sleeveless vest,” she muttered as she rather forcefully shoved Daryl’s arms into the tuxedo jacket.

“To be fair, your sister fell in love with me while I was wearing these dirty jeans and sleeveless vest, so…” he trailed off.

“I married a pizza delivery boy, but at least he showers semi-regularly,” she commented, ignoring Glenn’s huff of indignation.

“Perfect. It’s like it was made for you, Dixon!” She brushed off his shoulders gently. Daryl caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror and felt his chest puff out just a little with pride at what he saw staring back at him.

“Except that it was made for a damn corpse…” he muttered, to ensure that Maggie’s head didn’t get too big.

“Now if only you’d let me cut your hair!” she continued, going to brush it off of his face but decided last minute that it was not the best idea.

“Not a chance. Only person ever touching my hair is Beth!” he ducked out of her way, before shrugging out of his tuxedo and handing it back to Glenn.

“Well, we’ve got the bride and grooms outfits organized. Our work here is done. Get back to bed or else you’ll be dead on your feet tomorrow,” she started to herd him back into the hallway like he was a damn sheep.

“Uh, Maggie, hold up,” he turned to face her, suddenly very aware that he had only been wearing his boxers for the duration of this entire event.

“Listen, uh… thanks. For everything. I mean it.” His voice was gruff, unfamiliar with apologies and sincere words unless they were directed at Beth.

He immediately saw her face soften as she processed his gratitude. The look of permanent anxiety that always seemed to cloud her pretty face eased momentarily, and her eyes sparkled at his in a way that reminded him of Beth.

“It’s not a problem. You’re my brother now, and I just want you to be happy.” She blinked rapidly, perhaps diffusing a few tears.

“Well, I’m going to get some shuteye before tom-, uh, the big day,” he gave her a small smile before sneaking back into his bedroom.

He tiptoed quietly back towards the bed. In his absence, Beth had rearranged herself over his half of the bed, no doubt lured by the warmth he had left behind. He awoke her as he struggled to climb in behind her as gently as possible.

“Hmmm, what happened?” she mumbled blearily as she reached for his arm, yanking it around her torso to hold her snug against his warmth.

“Nothing, princess. Go back to sleep,” he murmured gently, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. A sleepy smile spread across her face, and he made sure he took a few moments to thank whatever powers that be for the woman next to him.


	9. The Big Day

Their wedding day was everything she could have hoped for.

She already knew that she would never be able to forget the expression on Daryl’s face as he stood next to the oak tree that bordered the edge of their garden. She had memorized how he had looked, wearing a surprisingly fashionable black suit that Grace or Maggie had obviously thrifted from the embalming room.

She had never thought she’d ever see the day that Daryl would voluntarily don such a traditional garment, but she’d have been lying if she tried to deny how handsome he had looked, his eyes shining as he drank in her figure, wrapped in the simple white lace dress with pink wildflowers adorning her golden curls.

She walked steadily and surely towards him, a bouquet of matching wildflowers clasped in her hands. She saw the tears that leaked profusely from Maggie’s eyes as she bounced a giggling Sophia on her hip, her tiny chubby hands still clenching fistfuls of flower petals that she would occasionally throw into the air with an eruption of gurgling laughter. She saw Grace, who was grinning like a fool from the sidelines, her own hair twisted into a fishtail braid and her once weary face now free of anxiety for a moment or two.

When she finally reached Daryl, and his hands quickly moved to encase hers, she was overwhelmed by the tears that were swimming in his eyes.

“You look beautiful,” he breathed, his eyes raking her up and down without hesitation. She smiled in response as Glenn suddenly appeared next to them, spouting a lot of bullshit about weddings, and vows, and the sanctity of marriage that Beth was quite sure he had plagiarized from one of the Mills and Boon novels they had once found in the cellar. She stifled a giggle at Maggie’s dramatic eye roll in response to his statement that marriage was represented by a circle, because there were no corners, and it continued forever.

And then came the vows.

They stood before each other, and their small family, and professed their love for one another. She did not fail to notice the faint wobble of his chin as he promised to love her for the rest of his life. And then Glenn was announcing that it was time to kiss the bride, and Beth’s feet lifted clear off of the ground as Daryl crushed her to his chest, kissing her with dramatic enthusiasm that made Grace start to clap and Maggie to laugh, rocking Sophia and pointing at her mother and father.

“Now it’s time for the real party to start!” Grace had procured a dusty glass bottle that was full of some cloudy liquid from behind her back.

“Uhh, is that moonshine?” Daryl set Beth back onto her feet to appraise the bottle with uncertainty.

“It sure is. Found it in the back of your shed. It’s pretty powerful, but it’s not a wedding unless we pass out drunk!” she giggled, ducking back into the house for cups.

“I’m not sure that we should. Who’s going to watch over Sophia?” Beth’s brow was furrowed. She hadn’t imbibed since their night in the moonshine shack, and was quite certain that even one drink would reduce her to a useless puddle of giggling girlishness.

“Don’t worry, Beth. I’ve got her,” Maggie nodded to the little girl jiggling around enthusiastically in her arms.

“Are you sure?” As much as Beth did not particularly want to be known for handing off her own children to be watched by others, she was eyeing that bottle of moonshine a little too eagerly.

“I’ll sit this one out. We’ll go and read fairytale stories, how does that sound?” her voice rose a few octaves as she grinned down at Sophia who started to gurgle and clap excitedly.

“I guess we’re getting drunk, then,” Beth shrugged as Grace returned with four plastic cups and began to share out the moonshine. The taste was bitter, and burnt the back of her throat so that she coughed, sipping gingerly on the strange concoction as Grace downed her glass in one mouthful.

“Ugh, tastes like poison,” she decided, before pouring herself another glass.

“Maybe you shouldn’t hit the booze as hard as Grace over there. I don’t want an unconscious wife on my hands,” Daryl suggested carefully, relaxing at the expression on Beth’s face as she sipped the liquid.

“No chance. I’m only having one drink,” she promised, before dissolving into a fit of uncontrollable giggles as he fought to take her cup out of her hand before she smashed it.

Daryl sighed. This girl was a lightweight, and one cup of moonshine was probably equal to at least seven shots of peach schnapps. Before he had the chance to say anything to her, Grace had appeared out of nowhere, and had whisked Beth into the middle of the garden while she sang the lyrics to Bohemian Rhapsody for a dance.

“Jesus Christ, look at these two,” Daryl looked to Glenn for support, but instead found him nose-deep in his second glass of moonshine with a glazed look in his eyes. Daryl took a small sip from Beth’s half-empty cup. He could hardly fault her for tipsily tripping all over the front yard, with Grace’s excitable squeals filling the air as she swung Beth around and around.

They never let their hair down. Never relaxed their guard. Today would be a few hours of freedom, of not constantly looking over their shoulder. They had rigged the entire block of land with Walker alarms from tin cans and bells, and Maggie roamed the boundaries with the giggling Sophia, her eyes peeled for any sign of movement. For a split second, there was peace and happiness.

Daryl could feel the effects of the moonshine warming him from the inside out, spreading through his veins like wildfire. Euphoria. He hadn’t enjoyed a drink since the moonshine shack, when he’d screamed at Beth, had told her that she was spoiled and useless, had made her feel as though she were a burden to his survival. Yet now, Beth danced carelessly around the oak tree under which they had traded their marriage vows, the soft wind fluttering the hemline of her white dress.

Without overthinking it, he drained Beth’s glass and took a deep breath before he headed out to join his wife on the makeshift dance floor. Grace had just began a violent head banging choreography to the guitar riff of the song. Beth shrieked in tipsy excitement when she saw him, flinging her arms around his neck and planting a somewhat uncoordinated kiss to his cheek.

“I love you, husband!” she whispered, her cheeks flushed pink from the alcohol and the dancing.

“I love you too, even if you are decidedly pissed,” he admonished softly, brushing her hair out of her face.

“I’m not! I’m not even- sl- slightly drunk!” he could see the confusion on her face as her words came out a little sloppier than usual.

“This is the last time you’re drinking moonshine,” he warned, the smile on his face softening the caution in his words.

“Ooh, Mr. Dixon. You’ve only been my busband… um, husband for an hour and you’re already bossing me around,” Beth poked him in the chest in mock disapproval.

Their fingers intertwined and despite his better judgement begging him to stop her, he soon found himself dancing around the courtyard with Beth in his arms, her warm breath on his neck and her soft drunken giggles in his ear.


	10. Hungover

Daryl’s eyes cracked open much later than usual the next morning. By the brightness of the sun that shone relentlessly on his face, he estimated that it was well past ten.

He scrubbed at his eyes, blinking blearily in the light. His mouth was dry, a sure reminder of the alcohol he had drank the night before. All in all, his head remained clear and he was pleased that he’d seemed to avoid a proper hangover.

His arm went for a wander across the expanse of tangled sheets until he found Beth, one leg slung carelessly over the edge of the mattress. Her hair had come undone from the careful curls she had fashioned it into for their wedding day, and the flowers that Grace had placed in her hair were strewn across the bedroom floor.

As quietly as he could manage, he slipped out from between the sheets in search of water. His dry mouth and aching throat were begging for relief, so he headed doggedly towards the bathroom. He took his time in there, splashing water on his face and brushing his teeth to remove the stale taste of booze.

It was only as he padded silently back down the corridor towards their bedroom that he paused, stepping on an unfamiliar piece of material and stopping to pick it up. Panties. Pale pink, lacy panties.

Daryl groaned as he suddenly had an incredibly vivid flashback of seeing those panties on Beth the previous night. She had attacked him as he exited the bathroom the night before, her hands in his hair and her lips pressed to his. She had tasted like moonshine, and Daryl was too under the influence himself to advise her to stop.

All he could remember was her legs wrapped tight and high around his waist, her pretty white dress rucked up over her waist and his tuxedo pants pushed past his hips, her slurring voice breathing into his ear, telling him that she felt like she was getting fucked by James Bond, at which point they both began laughing so hard that they almost fell over.

He clenched the damp material of her lacy panties in his hands, not wishing Grace or Glenn to stumble upon them as he continued to their bedroom door and pushed it open to find that Beth had rolled onto her stomach, limbs outstretched and a low-pitched whine escaping her.

“Daryl. I’m dying,” she groaned, pulling on his pillow until it covered her head with darkness.

“I bet you are,” he grinned.

“Stop yelling!” she grumbled, flipping him off.

He stifled a laugh. Welcome to the consequences of drinking moonshine.

“Sorry, Beth. I’ll get you some coffee,” he offered, half expecting her to snap at him. He wasn’t disappointed.

“No. I’m going to vomit. I’m so sick.”

“Knock knock!” came a decidedly cheery voice from the doorway. Daryl swung around to find Maggie looking as bright eyed and bushy tailed as ever, holding a freshly bathed Sophia in her arms.

“Would that be pregnancy-sick, or hangover sick?” she enquired as she observed Beth’s prone position.

“Don’t talk, Maggie. Please. It hurts,” Beth murmured in response.

“Oh, the joys of moonshine,” she sing-songed a little too loudly, bouncing Sophia until the little girl started to squeal with delight. Daryl grimaced at the high frequency sound waves that bounced around the inside of his head. He could only imagine what Beth would be hearing.

“Here. I’ll take her outside for some fresh air.” Daryl lifted her effortlessly under one arm, enjoying the cacophony of excitable sounds despite the headache it was causing.

“How’s Glenn and Grace holding up?” he glanced at Maggie.

“They’re technically alive. I checked them both for a pulse. I was going to make you some breakfast, but Grace started spewing from the second I started cooking the powdered eggs,” she shrugged, secretly enjoying the suffering of the other housemates. She heard Beth dry-retch over the edge of the bed at the mention of food.

Daryl ushered Maggie quickly out of the bedroom to leave Beth to recuperate. He grabbed a tiny knitted beanie from Sophia’s collection of clothes to jam onto her head before heading out the front door and taking a seat on the steps of the front porch.

The yard was still littered with rubbish from their celebrations. Multiple plastic cups lay on the grass, some of them half-crushed under uncoordinated dancing feet. Someone had painted “Just Married” onto the oak tree with tomato sauce, and he spotted Beth’s bridal bouquet laying on the ground near his feet.

“Looks like we had one hell of a party, little one,” he addressed Sophia, before settling her into the porch swing and starting to gather the plastic and glass cups, the empty sauce bottle and the fallen flowers. It took him the better part of a half hour before the clearing was returned to its pre-wedding condition. He would pause to glance up at Sophia every few seconds, often being rewarded by her chubby little hands applauding him. By the time he had checked that the Walker alarms were still functional, an hour had passed and he scooped his daughter up into his arms to return her to Beth for her breakfast.

As he entered the kitchen, he saw that Beth had somehow made it downstairs and to the kitchen table. She looked decidedly more grey than usual, but her eyes still glittered excitably when he swooped in to press a kiss to her forehead and hand over their daughter.

“Morning,” Grace’s weakened voice welcomed him. She was standing by the stovetop, heating a pot of water for coffee.

“Looking a bit worse for wear, Grace,” Daryl replied, ignoring the irritable grumblings she produced in response.

“Normally I don’t care for public breastfeeding, but I don’t think I have the energy to drag myself back upstairs,” Beth grumbled as she yanked unceremoniously on the hem of one of Daryl’s henley vests.

“No! No, stop!” a loud clattering startled them all as Grace smashed a coffee mug onto the hardwood floor in an effort to get their attention.

“Don’t breastfeed her!” she added for good measure.

“What? Why?” Beth was less than happy with the volume of Grace’s voice.

“You’ve still got alcohol in your blood stream. That means it’s in your milk, as well. You can’t breastfeed her, it’s not safe.” Grace finally choked out.

Beth stared at her in horror at the thought of what she had almost done. Her eyes darted down to Sophia, who was gurgling up at her with nothing but trust and love in her bright blue eyes.

“Oh no. Oh God, no. I can’t believe I- I should have known,” Beth breathed, barely noticing Daryl reaching for Sophia’s formula can and mixing her breakfast.

“Don’t worry. Lots of women don’t know. It’s not as if you have an OBGYN to tell you these things,” Grace blinked matter of factly.

Daryl hurried to hand Beth the bottle, so that she could get on with feeding Sophia and hopefully forget their close call. His eyes were drawn to what looked like a pile of rags laying on the floor in the living room.

“Uh, what’s that?” he nodded in the pile’s general direction.

“What would be my darling husband,” Maggie replied from her seat on the couch, where she nursed her cup of coffee.

“Is he dead?” Grace asked, craning her neck to try to observe whether the pile of rags was moving with respiration.

“Not quite sure. He’s snoring a bit, so I’d say not.” Maggie kicked the corner of the rag pile with the toe of her shoe, producing an unmistakable groan of pain.

“What even happened last night? The last thing I can remember is dancing to Bohemian Rhapsody, and then everything is a blur,” Beth croaked.

“Well, you were dancing for a good hour or so. After that, Glenn thought it would be an excellent idea to attempt some parkour. He fell down the staircase three times before I could convince him to give up,” Maggie chuckled into her coffee cup.

“Oh God, I wish I had seen that,” Daryl bit the inside of his cheek at the mental image of Glenn attempting anything remotely athletic.

“And then Grace took her clothes off-”

“What! I did not!” Grace screamed, eyes suddenly much more alert.

“Yes, you did. You were mumbling something about wanting to dance naked in the rain. I had to button you into one of Glenn’s shirts backwards so you couldn’t take it off again,” she grinned.

Grace’s head hit the table with a solid thunk as a groan of disgust escaped her.

Daryl shook his head, overcome with the reality of what they had done last night.

“That was really irresponsible. We’re just lucky that nothing worse came of it,” he mumbled, as he gazed down at his daughter who lay in Beth’s arms, suckling on her bottle of formula contently.

“It was one day, Daryl. Nothing bad happened. Nobody is hurt,” Maggie reassured him. “Well, except for Glenn,” she added as an afterthought, looking down in concern. The lump that was Glenn groaned in response.


	11. Give Us This Day

She watched them.

Days turned to weeks, which soon progressed to months. Months of living in safety. Months of having adequate food, water, clothing and shelter. Months of happiness. Laughter filled the house, and a feeling of security settled over them like a warm blanket in the cold night. They were secluded out here, and walkers were few and far between.

It wasn’t as though there were endless jobs and tasks to fill the day. After completing the rounds of checking the traps for food, securing the Walker alarms and taking inventory of their supplies, days were generally spent wasting away the hours. Beth would sit by the fire, reading to tiny Sophia. Maggie would take inventory, collect firewood, cook meals and do laundry. Glenn would follow Maggie around like a loyal puppy, or accompany Daryl into the woods where they would hunt. Deer, rabbit, squirrels. Grace was eternally grateful for the safe haven that this home provided. But the days did become lonesome. When the sun was setting, and the house was quiet, and there was no longer enough sunlight to read books, there was nothing much to do to entertain herself.

And so she watched them.

She observed their daily lives. Their habits. Their preferences. She knew what formula Sophia disliked, and was soon able to distinguish between her “I’m hungry” and her “change my nappy” cries. She learned that Glenn was funny, always able to crack a joke to ease the tension in any situation. The admired Maggie for her strength and her resilience, she could tell that life used to be easy for that farmer’s daughter but she had adjusted to the turn of the world with such ease it made Grace feel jealous. Maggie was so alike, yet so different from Glenn. It was easy to see how they had fallen together at the end of the world. They complimented each other perfectly.

She liked to watch Glenn and Maggie. But she loved to watch Daryl.

Daryl.

He was still a complete and utter mystery to her, despite having lived under the same roof for months now. He was the strong and silent type, like her own late husband. She’d only ever seen him laugh or smile in the presence of Beth. He was rough around the edges, but wasn’t everybody by this point?

Every morning, Grace would watch from the front window as Daryl checked the traps. She watched the lines of muscle that ran the length of his arms as he lifted his crossbow over his shoulder. She watched the small expanse of skin above the waistline of his jeans whenever his shirt lifted. She traced the tattoos that covered his upper arm, and pondered their meaning or significance. Did they tell a story, or were they a result of stumbling into a tattoo parlor at 2am, drunk and disorderly?

He was their leader. Nobody ever referred to him by that title, but it was obvious enough in the way he acted. He put the others first, offering protection for what was now his family.

And God, did that man love his daughter.

Grace lived for the stolen moments that she would see Daryl playing with Sophia, tickling at her sides and peppering her with light, sweet kisses. The type of kisses that conveyed so much love and adoration.

Andrew used to kiss Isabella like that, when she was small and pink and full of joy and curiosity. If she closed her eyes and tried real hard, she could play her own memories like old movies in her head. Of Andrew appearing at the hospital with a bouquet of flowers when Isabella was born. Holding her for the first time, terrified of breaking this fragile human. The expression on his face when she said “Dada”. Her squeals of glee as she learnt to ride a bike, to rollerblade in the park, to throw the basketball through the hoop on the court. Her eyes would always water and her heart would ache when she remembered the man she had loved, had made children with, had lost so violently and so suddenly.

But Andrew wasn’t here any longer. Reminiscing about the days when he was with her would do nothing to bring him back. Isabella wasn’t here either. Or her infant daughter that never even had the chance to be a person.

But Daryl was here. Daryl and Sophia.

And, of course, there was Beth.


	12. Waiting For The Words

Beth frowned in disappointment as she set down the next child development textbook on the coffee table. The tabletop was now crowded with a combination of dusty textbooks and parenting manuals that had been gradually plundered from department stores along with the bridal magazines. At least those glossy mags now lay in the fireplace, slowly turning to ash.

Her weary eyes glanced out of the kitchen window, noticing that the sun was noticeably lower than it had been when the rest of their group had left on the run. It must have been hours – at least five hours. Daryl was never gone for more than three.

She could feel her stomach turn at the prospect of anything happening to Daryl, her family, or to Grace, who had undoubtedly become a beloved member of their group. She had fit in like a puzzle piece, offering to go on runs, asking for weapons training, babysitting Sophia when Beth felt as though her head was about to explode. Beth knew that she would miss Grace if anything were to happen.

She shook her head to clear the dark thoughts. Positive thinking - that was what she needed. Without keeping her chin up, the feelings of anxiety and stress would only return and threaten to overwhelm her. She had fought for so long to keep the darkness that had overcome her on the farm at bay, but occasionally she could smell the scent of unease in the air and was forced to concentrate all of her energy on not dwelling on the little upsets. She was a different from the naïve girl on the farm. She was a woman, now. A mother, nonetheless. She returned her focus upon the selection of developmental books in front of her, as a whole different type of anxiety began to rise up inside of her.

“A typically developing child will produce their first meaningful word between the ages of 12 and 18 months. A failure to develop single word use by this age may be indicative of a language delay or pervasive developmental disorder, and should be referred to a pediatrician for consultation as soon as possible.”

She frowned again, before sliding the book off of her lap and secretly enjoying the dull thud it emitted as it hit the hardwood, cracking its spine. What the hell did these so-called professors and doctors know, anyway? It was a fair bet that most of these world-renowned authors were currently stumbling around at a far off location, searching for victims to devour. Nothing was normal anymore. Nothing was set in stone.

Sophia was beautiful, healthy and perfect, but Beth was well aware that she still hadn’t said anything. And surely she should be saying something by this stage. Sure, she wasn’t completely outside of the age bracket for ‘typical’ development. But what did ‘typical’ even mean nowadays? Was it typical for children to be raised in a barren apocalyptic wasteland? Perhaps Sophia’s first words would be something along the lines of “walker” or “crossbow”, since those were certainly a few of the most dominant words used in the household.

Beth stood, stretching out the ache in her legs, and shuffled over to the playpen they had set up for Sophia. The baby girl sat amongst the cushions and blankets, playing with a wind-up doll and grinning down at it until Beth crouched before her to attract her attention.

“Hey, Sophia. Can you say Mama?” Beth’s eyes were wide in anticipation, perhaps too wide. Sophia simply stared nonplussed into her mother’s face.

“Come on. You can do it. Ma-ma-ma-ma-ma. Ma-ma-ma-ma-ma!”

Still nothing.

“Please? If you say a real word, I’ll sing you to sleep in my arms every night for a week!” She paused to glance towards the front door, feeling ridiculous for attempting to bargain with a baby.

She recognized the expression on her daughters face as stubbornness, and was forced to consider the alternative possibility that her daughter was a child prodigy with the vocabulary of an Oxford graduate, however remained stoically silent in a vain attempt to thwart the adults in the house.

She abandoned her effort. She could always come back to badgering her daughter for words at a later time. It’s not as though there were other parents here to judge her for not ‘stimulating’ her child’s brain enough. Sophia was plenty stimulated. She was just… a perfectionist.

Beth battled to quiet the questions that filled her head. The last thing they needed was for there to be something wrong with their daughter. Something that required psychologists or therapists to fix. Sure, Daryl had reassured Beth that he had been a late talker, although he was able to attribute that directly to his parental neglect. Sophia was certainly not neglected. If anything, they paid her too much attention.

Beth curled back up in her spot on the couch, angled so that she could see through the front door in case her family returned.

They had to be okay. Of course they would be.


	13. Trapped

Maggie let out a shriek of disgust as she wrenched her knife from the skull of a walker. The pressure caused rotted brain matter to spray forth from the cracked cranium. She stomped her boot once more into the softened bone before wiping her knife haphazardly on a handkerchief, before deciding to throw said handkerchief into the woods. Nothing took the smell of rotted walker brain out of cloth. The odor was pungent and stubborn.

“How much further did you say it was?” Glenn chirped up from the rear of their group. He was observing Maggie’s knife skills with a hint of pride and adoration on his face as she finished kicking the corpse off into the ditch that bordered the thin road they were walking.

“Another half a mile or so. Not far at all. Right behind the old McDonald’s store over there!” Grace pointed out the golden arches, her hand shielding her eyes from the sun which glinted blindingly against Beth’s silver necklace which hung around her neck.

“Aah, what I wouldn’t give for a Big Mac and a large fries,” Glenn commented wistfully, hearing his stomach start to grumble at the idea of a proper feeding.

“What was pretty much all I ate until I was 21 or so,” Daryl added with a wry smile.

“What? How are you not morbidly obese?” Glenn appraised Daryl’s muscular arms, his left bicep tensed under the weight of the crossbow.

“A combination of high metabolism and drugs,” Daryl shrugged him off, gesturing up ahead as the golden arches came into view and revealed the warehouse behind it.

“Is that what I think it is?” Maggie breathed a sigh of disbelief as the faded red-letters loomed in the near distance, growing clearer with each passing minute.

“Costco!” Grace laughed.

“Hope you’ve got your membership renewed, because we are going shopping!” She grabbed Maggie’s hand, pulling her towards the front door which remained miraculously intact.

A few sharp kicks between Glenn and Daryl caused the emergency exit door to spring open, and they entered the dim interior cautiously, remaining light on their feet in case they roused a few lone walkers.

“Okay, let’s be smart about this,” Maggie whispered, her voice quiet yet strong in the open-plan department store.

“We need baby formula, diapers, dummies. Tinned food. Painkillers and bandages. Bottled water, if you can find any,” she counted off the list on her hands.

“Once we’ve got the necessities, we can fill up our carts with whatever else we want. But needs are always first, okay?” Daryl added, trying to hint to Grace that he was not about to help her lug a ton of unnecessary clothing back to the funeral home. She only nodded in agreement as she pulled a squeaky cart from the bay, and heading in the direction of infant care.

“Any dramas, call for us. You know what to do!” Glenn waved swiftly to Daryl as he ran to catch up with Grace.

“Hey, hey, hey! Hold up. You have to wait for me,” he reprimanded, immediately hating the nagging quality that his voice had acquired.

“Okay, calm down. I know where I’m going,” she sighed.

“You can’t just disappear on your own. That’s stupid, and stupid gets you killed,” he continued, internally grimacing.

“I’ll remember that,” she murmured bluntly as she increased her pace ever so slightly, just to irk him. Their floor of the Costco was silent apart from the squeaks of the cart wheels on the tiled floor, and the dull thunk of their boots.

“So… what did you do? Before all this happened?” Grace piped up, having forgiven him for his earlier bossiness.

“Nothin’ much. Was a bit of a drop kick,” he shrugged. As much as he liked having Grace around, he did not feel the need to share his life story with her.

“Really? Are you from a big family?” she prodded, keen for some form of running conversation with him.

“No. Just me and my brother. Here – stop the cart, we need diapers,” he disappeared into the shelving units to grab armfuls of packages, dumping them into the base of the cart.

“That’s nice,” Grace murmured as she started to direct the trolley towards the display of formula and bottles.

“Huh?” Daryl was paying more attention to the task at hand, stacking bottles and formula tins into the trolley as well as a few of the other baby essentials that he knew Beth would appreciate. Pacifiers, tiny socks, onesies and baby wipes.

“Having a brother, I mean. I was an only child. What was your brother like?”

“He was a loser. Worse than me,” Daryl nudged her away from the cart handles so that he could maneuver the heavy load towards the first aid supplies at the end of the store.

“That’s too bad.”

There was a moment of silence, and Daryl realized that she expected him to ask her his own questions. After all, that was how humans communicated.

“What did you do?”

“Oh, I worked millions of jobs. Receptionist, banker, student recruitment at a university, hairdresser – you know, I could tidy up your hair for you. If you want me to.”

Daryl dodged away from her curious hands.

“Uh, no. Thanks, but no.” His words must have come out as brusque. Grace appeared taken aback by his response, and was lulled into silence for a few minutes as they finished collecting the odds and ends they would need for the house.  

Daryl peeked over the rows of shelving units, looking for any sign of the others. He heard the squeak of a trolley and the soft thud of an item landing inside of it on the far right side of the store, and surmised that they were safe.

“Got everything on the list? Let’s head towards Maggie and Glenn,” he nodded in their general direction as he nudged the cart back towards the central walkway.

“Hold up! I wanna have a look at the books!” Grace latched onto the edge of the cart, preventing him from pushing it any further.

“Huh? What for? Gonna be reading Mills and Boon on the couch all day?” he grunted in disapproval.

“I was thinking along the lines of guides on hunting and gathering. Survival manuals, you know?”

“Oh. Fine. Hurry up,” he exhaled, deciding that he had no reason to be shitty with her after all. She quickly disappeared from sight, her short frame quickly engulfed by the shelving units. He remained with the cart, taking a quick inventory of what they had obtained from the infant section.

He heard Maggie’s familiar laugh from a few departments over, and closed his eyes for a moment as he leaned against the heavy handles of the cart and breathed a sigh of relief. They had enough supplies to keep them happy and healthy for a few good months at least. That meant less runs, less chance of fatalities, less danger. More time that he could spend with his wife and his daughter, instead of on the road and fighting for survival.

A high pitched scream suddenly permeated the deserted department store, filling him with terror.

“Maggie! Glenn!” he cried out, ears pricked up.

“We’re fine!” he heard Maggie call back.

Grace.

Abandoning the cart, he took off in the direction of the book department, not really sure of where anything was, only that he hoped he wasn’t too late to help her.

He ran past each aisle, briefly scanning through the darkness for Grace.

“Grace! Grace! Where are you?” He called for her, louder and louder with each passing second of silence. He could hear Maggie and Glenn’s pounding footsteps as they headed in their direction from the other side of the store.

“Daryl! Help!”

He practically squealed to a stop, his boots sliding against the shiny tiled floor at the sound of her voice.

He rounded a bookcase and saw her, on the floor, pulling herself backwards as a group of three decomposing walkers advanced upon her.

His hand went to reach for his crossbow, before he realized that he had left it hanging off the trolley in his haste to reach her. Instead, he drew his knife and sank it into the skull of the first walker. Grace screamed as blackened blood dripped onto the front of her shirt.

He kicked the lifeless corpse to the side and sank the blade into the next walker’s skull. This walker was considerably fresher than the last, and the hilt of his knife became wedged inside the frontal bone of its skull.

“Fuck!” Daryl yanked on the handle of his knife, but the blade refused to budge.

“Grace, get back!” He could hear her stumbling to her feet behind him as the third walker lunged at him. He dodged out of the reach of its snapping jaws, wishing that his damn knife would come unhinged so he could end it.

He glanced behind him and saw a brown door standing ajar, set against the department store wall.

“Grace! That room, is it an exit?”

“I think so!” he heard her reply. Releasing his grip on the handle of his knife, he surrendered the only weapon that he had as he dove towards the open door. Grace held it open until he was clear of the doorway, before slamming it shut only milliseconds before the third walker threw itself against the wood.

Daryl lay, sprawled on the floor of what appeared to be a janitors closet and not an exit. His eyes were squeezed shut as he struggled to calm his thundering heartbeat, and to slow his breathing until he was capable of thinking straight.

“Uh, are you okay?” he heard Grace’s voice within the dark confines of the closet. He could see the outline of her body in the dark and dusty air as she pressed herself against the door.

“Yeah. Just exhausted. Can we get out from here?” he pulled himself to his feet slowly, stabilizing himself against the door which rattled violently as the walker attempted to get at them.

“No. It’s just a storage closet. There’s no exit,” there was a trace of panic in her voice.

“It’s fine. Maggie and Glenn will get to us. They were on the other side of the department store. Won’t take long,” he whispered.

“Did you get hurt?” he could barely make out the silhouette of her face in the dim light of the closet as her eyes cast over him, assessing him for wounds.

“Nah, I’m fine.”

“Thank you. For saving my life out there,” she breathed. He shrugged off her appreciation.

“No, I mean it. It feels good, knowing that you’re looking out for me. You make me feel safe.”

Daryl was suddenly overcome with the feeling that this janitor’s closet was not big enough. She was standing right in front of him, he could feel her breath drifting over his chest with each exhalation.

“It’s fine.” He kept his eyes averted, fixed on the rattling door in the hopes that Maggie or Glenn would find them. She smelled of walker blood, which spattered the front of her shirt and glistened as it dried. Walker blood, and another scent that was strangely similar and yet completely out of place. Vanilla. She smelled like the shower gel that Beth always favored. Sweet and decadent.

Daryl’s ears perked up at the familiar and welcome sound of Glenn’s voice in the distance. He opened his mouth to call out to them, to alert them of his presence, but suddenly her mouth was on his. Grace’s mouth. Grace’s lips, pressed insistently against his. Her hands, wrapping around his neck and molding their bodies together.

Without thinking, he gripped her shoulders and threw her backwards far more forcefully than he had intended. There was a crash as she hit the shelving unit that was mounted against the wall, and a cry of pain escaped her at the impact. Her eyes darted up to meet his, a million expressions and emotions passing across her face. Anger. Rejection.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he spat out, feeling his blood begin to boil within his veins. Who the fuck did she think she was? What made her think that she could do this, could kiss him?

“What? You don’t want me?” she squeaked out, winded from her collision.

“I’m married. I love my wife!” he was beginning to lose all control, and accepted that unless Glenn broke the door down quick smart, he’d be throwing Grace through it.

“You’re married to a child! She doesn’t deserve a man like you! I do! I’ve lost everything,” her voice cracked, no longer screaming but on the verge of sobbing. Daryl remained with his back to the door, eyeing her wearily.

“Beth ain’t a child. She’s… the love of my life. You’re fucking crazy,” Daryl muttered. He could hear Maggie and Glenn’s footsteps as they approached the door, and the squelching sound of Daryl’s knife being withdrawn from the walker’s skull.

“Daryl? Is Grace with you?” came Glenn’s frantic voice. If only he knew.

“Yeah, trapped in here!” Daryl called back, excited for the change of topic.

“One of the walkers has toppled one of the shelves over. It’s jamming the door shut. Give us a minute, we’ll get you guys out!” Maggie piped up. And not a minute too soon, Daryl thought to himself.

He turned his attention momentarily back to Grace, who was now sulking against the wall of the closet, full of embarrassment at her brazen attack.

“You’re, um- you’re going to chuck me out of the funeral home, aren’t you?” she whispered into the darkness.

Daryl wanted to. He wanted nothing more than to kick her ass back into the forest where she had come from. And then he looked at her properly. At her bloodstained shirt, and the stark white tan line where her wedding ring used to sit. Her face was bloodshot and tearstained, her hair clumped together with blood. She sobbed helplessly at the prospect of being alone again. He could not throw her out without a proper explanation to Beth, Maggie and Glenn. Without having to watch Beth’s face fall as he recalled in detail Grace’s lips on his, her arms wound tight around his neck.

“What I want to do and what I should do are two completely different things.” His mind was running at a million miles a minute as he tried to calculate the degree of anger that Beth would unleash on him at the knowledge that her only friend had been left behind on a run.

“What are you saying?” Grace stammered.

“I should leave you here. I can’t trust you-” he paused as she dissolved into a new fit of gasping sobs.

“But Beth loves you. The woman you just betrayed would never forgive me for leaving you here. She’s that fucking _good_.”

“I-I know…”

“You’ve been through some shit, Grace. I get it, all of us have. We’ve all lost our families. It fucks with your head. And you make Beth happy. But you need to get this straight. I don’t have feelings for you. I never will have feelings for you. I love Beth, and that’s the way it’s always gonna be. If you do anything or say anything to hurt my family, you’re out on your ass. Hear me?”

“Of course. I’m sorry. I’d just come so close to being walker food and it was just so much adrenaline… I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“Shut up!” Daryl grunted as the janitor door flew open. Maggie stood in the doorway with Daryl’s crossbow slung proudly over her shoulder.

“Shit, Maggie. Did you shoot the other walker with that?” Daryl peered into the aisle to see the last walker lying dead with a bolt through its head.

“Sure did. I’m a natural,” she grinned up at him before shrugging the heavy weapon from her frame and heaving it over to him.

“Damn. It would be nice to have a run that doesn’t include drama and near-death experiences, wouldn’t it!” Glenn appeared besides Maggie, pushing Daryl’s abandoned cart.

“Hah! Has Daryl told you the story about the veterinarian clinic that we raided? Had to pull his ass through a window before he became walker bait!” Maggie grinned at Grace, oblivious to the tear-tracks that marked her face and the redness in her eyes.

“N-no. He didn’t mention that,” she choked out as she straightened her jacket and grabbed a hold of one of the shopping carts, taking off ahead of the others as she marched towards the department store doors.

“What’s her problem?” Maggie enquired, raising an eyebrow at Daryl. He shrugged off her questioning as he yanked the bolt from the skull of the last walker and replaced it on his crossbow. His bolts were in dire need of a clean.

The only sound that broke the uncomfortable silence that lingered between them as they made their way back to the funeral home was the squeaky wheel on Maggie’s shopping cart. They were fortunate enough to avoid all members of the undead, which was lucky for Daryl as his mind was racing faster than the speed of light. His mind full of endless ‘what-if’ scenarios. Of Beth’s face. Or Grace’s stupidity.

He could vaguely overhear Glenn and Maggie speaking in hushed tones behind him, punctuated by the squeaky wheel of the cart as it lodged on the small stones that littered the roadside. He didn’t care to listen properly. They had no idea of what had just unfolded moments earlier. They had no doubts about Grace and her role in this ragtag group of theirs.

Before long, he could see the funeral home rooftop through the trees, and headed for it with renewed vigor. He wasn’t sure if it was guilt, or fear, or confusion. All he knew was that he needed to get to Beth.

The front door was wide open, courtesy of Grace. He had barely stepped through the doorway when he heard an excitable squeal from the living room.

“Beth? You right?” he called out, brandishing the reclaimed dagger as a weapon.

“Daryl! In here!” his heartbeat slowed as he recognized no sign of pain or anxiety behind that familiar voice. He followed her like a lovesick puppy into the living room, where she sat cross-legged on the carpet, holding Sophia tight to her chest.

“She said it! She said ‘mama’. Daryl, she- I- I can’t- it’s just-” and with one final attempt at producing intelligible speech, she broke down into gasping happy sobs as she squeezed Sophia even tighter until the baby girl kicked her legs in annoyance.

An overwhelming feeling of pride filled his heart, his chest swelling as he looked down upon his wife and child, the happy tears dripping off Beth’s face and staining her shirt.

“I missed it.” He said suddenly, unaware himself that he had even spoken. His only child, and he had missed her very first word. What kind of a father did that make him?

“Don’t, Daryl. You missed it, because you were risking your life to find her everything she needs. She’ll say it again. You’ll be here,” she wiped clumsily at her face.

He seized her without warning, crushing her body against his and claiming her mouth with a possessive kiss. She squealed in surprise at his candor, her fingers twisting in his unruly hair until he released her.

“Love you. So goddamn much,” he grunted tenderly. She couldn’t hide the blush that colored her cheeks whenever he confessed his feelings for her.

“I know you do. I love you, too,” she stepped back as Daryl scooped Sophia into his arms and peppered kisses across the expanse of her blonde and curly head.

“Such a smart girl, huh? Just like your mama,” he crooned as he bounced her enthusiastically in his embrace.


	14. Redrum

**It's about to go down! Please read and review. Love you for all of your wonderful support.**

* * *

 

Beth’s eyes flickered open in the darkness. The bedroom was quiet. The only sounds that broke the silence were the gurgles from Sophia’s crib, and the deep rumble of Daryl’s even breaths as she lay beside her. Her head rested comfortably on his chest, raising with each inhalation. The blankets had pooled at the bottom of their bed, it was an unusually warm night.

Beth let out a quiet groan as Daryl shifted in his sleep, slinging a heavy arm across her lower stomach and compressing her bladder. Despite the desperate need to pee, she was still reluctant to leave the cocoon of his arms. Slowly, she began to disentangle herself from him, inching towards the edge of the bed until her feet touched the floor. She reached for the soft cotton robe that hung from the bedpost as she quietly slipped out of the door.

As the tiptoed down the upstairs corridor towards the bathroom, she became aware of another sound.

Dripping.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

Her first thought was that one of the others had left the tap loose, and made a mental note to scold them tomorrow. Wasting water was not an option nowadays. Every clean drop was priceless and a blessing. She was about to burst into the bathroom before she realized that the door was already ajar, and the bathroom light was on.

_“Daryl. Daryl, please. Please help me.”_

The voice was a whisper. Weak and broken. And it was coming from behind the bathroom door. Beth’s mind raced at a million miles a minute. What had happened? Had somebody fallen and hurt themselves? Had someone been bitten? Despite her brain screaming at her that none of these choices were likely or even possible, she still swallowed hard as she placed her palm against the cool wood of the door and pushed it open.

“Are you oka-” the words died on Beth’s lips as the steam from the water filled her nostrils, thick and viscous and iron-laced. Blood. So much blood. Beth had never seen so much blood. The bathtub was full of dark red water, overflowing and staining the white porcelain with crimson splatters. A straight razor lay abandoned by the claw foot of the tub, sitting in a puddle of sticky blood that dripped steadily from the hand that hung above it. The hand with the stark white tan mark around its third finger.

Daryl bolted upright in bed as he heard his name shrieked across the landing. The stubborn sheets twisted around his ankles, almost tripping him, as he struggled to his feet and dove towards the source of the sound. He found Beth in the bathroom, her white robe stained a murderous red and her arms submerged into the murky water of the tub, searching for Grace’s wrists.

“Daryl! She was calling you- I came in and she… I can’t…” Beth sobbed as she yanked her wrists out of the warm water. Grace was mumbling incoherently.

The stench of coagulating blood overwhelmed his senses and he suddenly felt faint for all the wrong reasons. She had been calling for him. She had been waiting for him to find her, nude and bloodied, to save her.  

“Grab that hand towel,” Daryl slid to his knees besides her, grabbing both of Grace’s slender wrists in his own to examine the damage. The cuts that adorned each wrist had traced the scar from her previous attempt. He breathed a sigh of relief as he examined the cuts and found them to be mostly superficial from cutting into her own scar tissue.

Beth returned with two strips of fabric from the hand towel and began to bandage one wrist while Daryl tied the other. Grace began to stir at the sound of Daryl’s voice.

“Daryl? You came for me. You saved me,” she was mumbling weakly, a delirious smile sliding across her face.

“She’s lost so much blood. I can’t-” Beth stammered.

“She didn’t, Beth. Her cuts ain’t deep enough. The water has diluted the blood, made it look worse than it is. She’s going to be okay,” he assured her gruffly as he tied off another knot a little tighter than required.

“Drain the tub. It’ll be easier to get her out,” Daryl nodded towards the plug as Beth snaked a slender arm into the red water to yank on the cord. The water began to slurp and suckle out of the tub, leaving a maroon stain on the inside of the bath where Grace’s prone body lay.

“Be gentle!” Beth insisted, however her request fell on deaf ears as Daryl unceremoniously reached into the tub and pulled Grace up by her underarms as one would a naughty toddler. She giggled drunkenly as Daryl slung one of her arms over his shoulder. The bandaged hand gripped his bare shoulder firmly, and he gritted his teeth as he realized that he had forgotten to put on a shirt in his haste to help Beth.

It was only after he had deposited her on the couch that she began to regain full consciousness. Daryl stood, stoic and unforgiving, in the doorway of the living room where Grace was splayed across the couch cushions.

“Thank you for saving me tonight, Daryl. I knew you would.” Her speech was still a little slurred. Her bandaged hands clasped a tea cup that Beth had filled with a herbal remedy.

“I didn’t save you. Beth did.”

“But you would choose me over her, wouldn’t you?”

Daryl lowered himself wearily onto the coffee table in an effort to prevent himself from lifting her by the scruff of her neck and shaking some sense into her.

“Grace, you’re sick.” He would take the high road with this one, he decided.

“I’m not sick. I’m in love. I need you-” her voice took on a pleading quality that made his skin crawl.

“Stop it, Grace. You’re not well. Mentally, I mean. You’ve lost everything, so you feel like you’ve got to belong to someone,” he explained, aware of Beth tinkering in the kitchen and keeping his voice quiet to avoid attracting her attention.

“I only want to belong to you!” she replied much louder, her eyes glancing towards the kitchen to see if she had aroused Beth’s attention.

“Ain’t gonna happen, Grace. I can’t do this anymore. I gave you a choice after the run. What you did tonight was… I can’t trust you. You’ve put my family in danger and I’m fresh out of second chances. You need to leave, Grace.” There was a tone of finality in his voice that caused her heartrate to quicken a little in fear.

“But… you can’t. I’ll tell her that you’ve been fucking me,” she burst out, a newfound energetic rage appearing to surge through her veins at the proposition of being thrown out. He had to fight the urge to laugh at her threats. Beth trusted him enough to only believe in the things that came from his own mouth, and after tonight he doubted she would ever put stock in what Grace would say.

“Go ahead. I don’t care anymore. I love my wife and my family, and I can’t let you do this anymore.” He stood up calmly, satisfied with his handle on the situation as he wiped his bloodstained hands on the jeans he had recently pulled on.

“You can’t make me leave, Daryl. What are you going to do to me? You’re not a murderer.” This time, her taunt held some weight. Daryl stood before her, taking in her figure. His eyes darted across the room, where Beth’s white cotton robe now lay in a pile on the floor, stained dark red-brown. He remembered the look of fear on her face as she searched for Grace’s wrists in the murky bath water, of her strained voice screaming for him.

“Not yet, I ain’t. But if anyone threatens to hurt my family? I could be.”

Grace’s eyes widened in shock at his honest response, but her reply was lost as Beth returned to the living room with another blanket.

“Here, Grace. It’ll get cold, this’ll keep you warmer.” Beth was humming a familiar tune as she tucked the woolen blanket around Grace’s body.

“What’s the time?” she asked casually, setting her tea on the coffee table where Daryl had sat moments before.

“Uh, still early. Probably only about two in the morning. I’ll leave you to get some rest, okay?” she smoothed down a stray hair that had fallen across Grace’s face, and Daryl had to fight the urge to slap her hand away. He seized her wrist firmly and pulled her from the room without a backwards glance.

“That poor woman,” Beth murmured as Daryl hurried her upstairs, casting backwards glances over his shoulder to ensure that Grace hadn’t moved from her place on the couch. He could only grunt in response.

She sighed as they reached the landing, and grasped Daryl’s hand firmly to pull him towards the bathroom door instead of their bedroom.

“What’s wrong?” Daryl questioned, worrying a little about her mental health following what she had just witnessed.

“Nothing. I, uh – we just need to have a shower before we get back into bed. All I can smell is her blood, and you’ve got a handprint on your shoulder,” she smiled sadly as she reached up to stroke the smudge of blood transferred to his skin from Grace’s grip as he had lifted her from the bathtub.

“Good idea,” Daryl agreed as he noticed that the tips of her blonde hair were temporarily stained a light beetroot pink from where her locks had dangled into the bathwater. He was certain that he did not want any part of Grace to remain attached to his Beth.

She rested her weight against the warmth of his chest as she rinsed the blood from her hair and arms and watched the stained water swirl down the drain. Daryl nuzzled her neck, catching a glimpse of her own stark white scars that ran horizontally across each wrist and catching them in his hands, pulling them to his mouth and pressing a kiss to each mark. The memory of her own suicide attempt still made his stomach ache, and he had no doubt that witnessing Grace’s near miss had traumatized her once more.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Daryl. I’m not the same person anymore,” her hoarse voice penetrated the comfortable silence between them. How was it that this woman could read every thought that crossed his mind?

“I know you’re not. But I can’t forget that it happened.”

She turned in his arms to face him, wiping the dripping water from his face as she stood on her toes to press a soft kiss to his lips.

“You saved me, Daryl Dixon,” she smiled sadly up at him, and he didn’t miss the glisten of a tear that fell from her eye and quickly mingled with the water dripping down her own face.

As Beth stepped from the shower, she let out a moan of disgust.

“We still have to clean this up,” she grumbled, yawning hugely as she stared dubiously at the bloodstained floor, bathtub and sink.

“We’ll get it in the morning,” he suggested, bundling her in a towel and admiring her flushed cheeks.

“No. It will be harder to clean by tomorrow. Plus, it smells like pennies in here. It’s making me feel nauseous,” she wrinkled her nose at the blood-scented steam that filled the bathroom.

“Okay, I’ll clean it,” Daryl cast a glance at her in the middle of another gigantic yawn. He noted the bags under her eyes, and the anxiety-wrinkle that she always got in between her eyes when she was stressed.

“I’ll help, I’ll get-” she started before he cut her off.

“You’re exhausted. Sophia will be waking you up for a feed in a few hours. Get some sleep, princess. I’ll clean it up, alright?” he nudged her insistently towards  the door of the bathroom before she finally relented and trudged back to their room, falling asleep almost as soon as her face hit the pillow, Sophia’s soft gurgles the last thing that she heard as sleep overtook her consciousness.

Perhaps it was hours, or perhaps mere minutes until she was awoken by the moving shadows against the far wall of her bedroom. She could hear Sophia’s soft crying from her crib and her tired body ached at the knowledge she would have to get up to comfort her.

The door to their bedroom creaked open just a little, letting light from the hallway illuminate Sophia’s crib.

“Daryl?” Beth’s half-conscious brain struggled to focus on the figure entering the bedroom.

“Not quite,” replied a familiar Southern twang. Maggie.

“I heard her grumbling from our room. Want me to take her? There’s a bottle of formula in the kitchen, that should do the trick,” her sister whispered as she bent over the crib to wrap up Sophia in her blanket.

“Thanks, Maggie. Take her teddy bear, too. She can’t sleep without it,” Beth murmured before sleep consumed her once more.

Daryl immediately felt as though he was working a crime scene from one of those trashy forensic shows that used to fill the cable channels. He managed to wipe up the blood from the tiles pretty quickly, but the red ring around the tub was much harder to budge and it took a great deal of elbow grease and scrubbing before it faded.

It took forty minutes before he was heading back to their bedroom and sliding under the covers. Beth was curled in the fetal position on her side of the bed, her damp blonde curls spread around her head like an angel’s halo. He wanted to stay and admire her like this. He glanced up to Sophia’s crib to find it empty. Her blanket and the tiny teddy that she liked to hug while she slept was also missing.

“Beth, where’s Sophia?” he whispered gently into her ear. She shifted in her sleep as his voice awoke her.

“Oh, Maggie came in earlier. She’s gonna keep her for the night,” she mumbled, wriggling back into his heated embrace as his arms wrapped protectively around her torso.

“So this means there’ll be no five AM wakeup call? I can handle that after tonight,” he replied teasingly as he pressed a goodnight kiss to the side of her neck.

Within mere moments, they were both sound asleep. Their breathing rates synched. They were wrapped around each other. They were at peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Please review and let me know what you think!


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